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The  LIFE  or  GOETHE 

By 

JUbert  Bielschowsky,  Ph.D. 


Three  volumes,  Svo,  Illustratecl 

1.  From    Birth   to    the    Return    from    Italy, 

I 749- I 788 

2.  From  the   Italian  Journey  to  the  Wars  of 

Liberation,    1788-181 5 

3.  From  the  Congress  of  Vienna  to  the  Poet's 

Death,  1815-1832 


G.P.  Pvjitnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


\ 


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>  >  J  >  J  >  .  J  '■  J     ; , .  )  ,  •  1  , 

THE 

LIFE  OF  GOETHE 


BY 

ALBERT  BIELSCHOWSKY,  Ph.D. 

AUTHORISED  TRANSLATION  FROM  THE  GERMAN 

BY 

WILLIAM  A.   COOPER,   A.M. 

ASSISTANT    PROFESSOR   OF  GERMAN,  STANFORD   UNIVERSITY 

THREE   VOLUMES 

VOLUME   I 
1749-1788 

FROM  BIRTH  TO   THE  RETURN  FROM  ITALY 


ILLUSTRATED 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW    YORK   AND    LONDON 

Tlbc  mUcherbocker  press 

1909 


J   ;  .  •  ,  •,    .  •    .,♦   « 


Copyright,  1905 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


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TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE 

HE   standard   biography   of   Goethe,   and   the   most 

popular  biography  of  any  man  written  in  Modern 

*s.      *        German,  is  herewith  offered  in  translation  to  the 

vj^English-reading   public.     It   is   the   work   of   an   eminent 

^v  scholar,  who  devoted  practically  the  whole  of  his  life  to 

the  one  purpose  of  erecting  a  worthy  monument  to  the 

greatest  poet  of  his  country,  and  one  of  the  greatest  in  the 

4  history  of  the  world. 

Albert  Bielschowsky  was  born  in  Namslau,  Silesia,  on 

the  3rd  day  of  January,  1847.     After  receiving  his  doctor's 

\  degree  in  classical  philology,  he  followed  the  profession  of 

^   teaching  for  sixteen  years.     In  1886  he  moved  to  Berlin  in 

order  to  enjoy  the  larger  library  facilities  of  the  Prussian 

capital.     Owing  to  a  chronic  illness  with  which  he  became 

!  afflicted,  the  Government  relieved  him  of  the  exacting 
duties  of  his  profession,  and  this  enabled  him  to  devote  the 
last  ten  years  of  his  life  wholly  to  his  biography  of  Goethe. 
He  died  on  the  21st  day  of  October,  1902. 

The  first  volume  of  his  Goethe,  sein  Leben  und  seine 
Werke  had  appeared  in  1895.  The  second  and  last  volume 
was  so  nearly  completed  before  his  death  that  it  was  an 
easy  matter  for  others  who  were  familiar  with  his  method 
and  aims  to  finish  it.  It  was  published  in  1903.  As  there 
is  a  great  difference  in  the  size  of  the  two  volumes,  and  the 
whole  work  divides  very  naturally  into  three  parts  of 
approximately  equal  length,  it  has  been  decided  to  publish 
the  translation  in  three  volumes,  reserving  the  last  two 
chapters  of  Volume  I.  of  the  original  for  the  beginning  of 
Volume  II.  of  the  translation.    A  statement  as  to  what  was 


111 


iv  tlranelator's  iprcface 

added  by  others  to  Bielschowsky's  manuscript  will  there- 
fore appear  in  the  preface  to  the  third  voliune  of  this 
translation. 

Of  biographers  of  Goethe  there  had  been  no  lack. 
Among  the  most  important  earlier  ones  were  Viehoff 
(1847-9),  Schafer  (1851),  Lewes  (1855),  and  Prutz  (1856). 
For  a  period  of  nearly  twenty  years  (1856-74)  there  were 
none.  Goedeke  (1874)  began  a  new  epoch,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  Grimm  (1877),  Diintzer  (1880),  Sime  (1888), 
Prem  (1893),  Wolff,  Meyer,  Heinemann,  and  Bielschowsky 
(all  in  1895),  and  Witkowsky  (1899). 

For  forty  years  the  Germans  were  obliged  to  confess 
that  the  most  popular  life  of  Goethe  had  been  written  by 
Lewes,  an  Englishman.  Now  critics  are  unanimous  in 
declaring  that  Bielschowsky's  Goethe  not  only  contains  the 
best  features  of  the  others,  but  has  in  addition  many  merits 
peculiarly  its  own,  so  that  it  is  not  one  of  many  biographies, 
— it  is  the  biography  of  the  poet.  This  opinion  is  most 
substantially  corroborated  by  the  number  of  editions  the 
work  has  experienced. 

In  his  preface  to  the  first  volume  Bielschowsky  said  that 
it  was  his  purpose  to  write  a  new  biography  of  Goethe, 
taking  into  account  the  abundant  material  made  accessible 
by  the  opening  of  the  Goethearchiv,  and  by  the  discoveries 
of  the  last  generation  of  scholars.  Choice  of  material  and 
manner  of  treatment  were  determined  by  his  desire  to  ap- 
peal to  the  general  reader.  Hence  his  account  of  the  poet's 
life  is  more  detailed  than  would  have  been  necessary  if  he 
had  been  writing  for  specialists  only.  He  took  as  his 
motto  Goethe's  words  to  Heinrich  Meyer  (February  8, 
1796) :  "All  the  pragmatic  characterisations  of  biographers 
are  of  little  value,  compared  with  the  naive  details  of  a 
great  life."  These  words  he  considered  doubly  significant 
in  this  case,  inasmuch  as  the  details  reveal  to  us,  not  alone 
the  man,  but  the  poet  as  well.  Considering  Goethe  a  type 
of  ideal  man,  he  said  further  that  an  understanding  of 
Goethe  as  a  man  would  lead  to  a  clearer  understanding  of 
mankind  in  general. 


n:ran0lator'0  ipreface  v 

It  will  be  observed  that  Bielschowsky  was  very  con- 
servative with  respect  to  the  poet's  autobiographical 
writings.  He  said  that  the  more  he  had  studied  the  his- 
torical sources  and  the  new  facts  brought  to  light,  the  more 
he  had  been  convinced  of  the  excellence  of  the  poet's 
memory,  the  truthfiilness  of  his  utterances,  and  the  correct- 
ness of  his  judgments  concerning  his  own  past.  He  differed 
from  the  poet's  statements  only  when  forced  to  do  so  by 
documentary  evidence,  or  by  strong  proof. 

His  discussions  of  Goethe's  writings  are  based  on  the 
redactions  of  greatest  historical  value.  In  the  case  of 
Gotz  it  is  the  second,  of  Werther  the  first,  of  Iphigenie  the 
last,  etc.  His  accoiints  of  the  Swiss  joiirney  of  1779  and 
the  Italian  journey  are  based,  not  on  the  letters  as  edited 
for  publication  by  the  poet,  but  on  the  original  letters  and 
journals.  The  orthography  and  punctuation  of  the  passages 
cited  have,  with  few  exceptions,  been  modernised.  The 
only  changes  which  the  translator  has  taken  the  liberty  to 
make  in  the  text  are  the  substitution  of  the  opening  sentence 
of  Chapter  I.  for  two  paragraphs,  and  a  slight  alteration  in 
the  wording  of  the  paragraph  referring  to  Faustina  in 
Chapter  XXVI.  The  footnotes  signed  "C. "  are  inserted 
by  the  translator. 

Bielschowsky's  Goethe  is  characterised  by  ease  of  com- 
prehension, artistic  style,  and  scientific  depth.  His  clear- 
ness in  the  analysis  of  characters  and  in  the  presentation  of 
fimdamental  ideas  is  unsurpassed.  No  other  biographer 
has  ever  traced  the  intimate  relation  between  Goethe's  per- 
sonal experiences  and  his  literary  creations  with  such  fine 
appreciation  and  such  warm  sympathy.  The  chief  charm 
of  his  work,  however,  and  what  has  doubtless  contributed 
more  than  anything  else  to  its  phenomenal  popularity,  is 
his  predominant  use  of  continuous  narrative,  painting  one 
complete  word-picture  after  another,  without  stopping  to 
turn  aside  and  argue,  or  to  show  us  the  straw  out  of  which 
he  has  threshed  his  wheat.  One  familiar  with  Goethe's  let- 
ters, journals,  and  poetical  writings  is  constantly  pleased  and 
surprised  at  the  consummate  skill  with  which  Bielschowsky 


vi  ZTranelator's  preface 

has  woven  into  his  narrative  the  poet's  own  words 
and  expressions.  But  not  only  does  the  language  recall 
so  vividly  the  language  of  Goethe;  its  spirit,  too,  is  thor- 
oughly saturated  with  the  spirit  of  the  poet.  One  feels 
almost  as  if  Goethe  had  sat  at  Bielschowsky's  elbow  and 
dictated  to  him.  His  was  the  first  biography  to  give  us  a 
whole  Goethe,  the  writer,  the  thinker,  the  statesman,  the 
man,  and  this  makes  it  a  handbook  that  will  have  its  per- 
manent place  beside  the  poet's  own  writings. 

It  has  been  thought  that  a  translation  of  this  work 
would  be  welcome  to  the  many  students  and  admirers  of 
Goethe  who  are  unable  to  read  it  in  the  original.  The 
verse  cited  has  been  given  in  the  original  for  the  enjoyment 
of  those  who  read  German;  for  the  benefit  of  others  a 
translation,  usually  an  attempt  at  verse  preserving  the 
rhymes  and  rhythm  of  the  original,  is  given  in  a  note  at  the 
bottom  of  the  page. 

The  translator  wishes  here  to  make  acknowledgment  of 
his  indebtedness  to  Professor  Julius  Goebel,  who  secured 
for  him  the  authorisation  of  the  author's  widow  and  the 
German  publisher  to  make  this  translation.  Dr.  Goebel 's 
criticism  of  the  manuscript  of  this  volume  has  been  of  great 
value  to  the  writer,  and  is  reflected  in  some  of  the  footnotes, 
as  well  as  in  certain  passages  of  the  text.  To  Professor 
B.  O.  Foster  the  writer  is  under  great  obligations  for  many 
valuable  criticisms  and  suggestions,  and  for  generous  as- 
sistance in  reading  the  proof.  Professor  G.  J.  Peirce  has 
also  made  some  useful  suggestions,  and  has  aided  in  the 
proof-reading.  To  these  friends  the  translator  takes  this 
opportunity  of  expressing  his  heartiest  thanks. 

W.  A.  C. 

Stanford  University. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Introduction   .........         i 

Goethe  the  most  human  of  men — Difficulty  of  understand- 
ing him — Perfect  amalgamation  of  all  his  faculties — The 
seeming  contradictions  in  his  nature — First  half  of  his  life 
spent  in  establishing  harmony  among  all  his  powers — His 
tendency  toward  the  good — Extreme  sensitiveness — His  life 
the  greatest  of  his  works. 

I. — Home  and  Family 8 

Birth  of  the  poet — Social  and  political  conditions  in  Frank- 
fort— Advantages  of  the  imperial  city — Goethe's  ancestors — 
His  parents. 

II. — School  and  Life 14 

Goethe's  home  —  His  brother  Hermann  Jacob  —  His  sister 
Cornelia — Life  in  the  home — Early  education — The  Bible 
— Hebrew  —  Attitude  toward  the  Chiu"ch — Father's  collec- 
tions— Influence  of  friends  of  the  family  —  Boyish  vanity 
— Influences  outside  the  home  —  Earthquake  of  Lisbon — 
Seven  Years'  War — Count  Thoranc  quartered  in  the  Goethe 
house  —  French  theatre  —  Election  and  coronation  of  a 
German  Emperor — First  love — Gretchen — Sorrowful  end. 

III. — Earliest   Productions   ......       29 

Study  of  law,  philosophy,  religion,  and  poetry  —  Accom- 
plishments and  experience  at  seventeen — His  father  wishes 
him  to  become  a  jurist — He  desires  to  be  a  poet — German- 
Latin  colloquies  composed  at  the  age  of  eight — Mdrchcn 
vom  neuen  Paris — The  Arcadian  Society — Letters  to  Buri — 
Early  poems — Great  fertility — Variety  of  compositions — 
The  puppet  play  —  Passion  for  dramatising — Determines 
against  the  law — Plan  to  be  a  university  professor — De- 
parture for  Leipsic. 

IV. — First  Semester  of  Student  Life  ...       41 

Gallant  Leipsic — Goethe  changes  dress  and  conduct — Re- 
tains peculiarities  of  speech — Feeling  of  freedom — Aristo- 
cratic appearance  of  Leipsic  —  Goethe's  private  life — 
Ambition  to  be  a  professor  of  belles-lettres — Discouraged 

vii 


viii  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

by  the  Bohmes — His  poems  condemned — Doubts  his  own 
talent — Burns  his  manuscripts — University  lectures  are 
barren,  dull,  unsatisfactory — No  fondness  for  cards  or 
dancing — Melancholy  and  lonely. 

V. — Katchen  Schonkopf,  Behrisch,  Oeser  .  .  52 
Arrival  of  Horn  and  Schlosser  —  Introduction  to  the 
SchOnkopfs — Goethe  and  Katchen  in  love — Goethe  con- 
scious they  can  never  marry — Their  associations — A  rival 
— Triumph — Annette — Another  rival — Jealousy  —  Letters 
to  Behrisch — Lovers  part  as  friends — Behrisch's  character 
— Influence  over  Goethe — Slander — Odes  to  Behrisch — 
Goethe  avoids  Gellert  and  Bohme — Associations  with  the 
Breitkopfs  and  the  Obermanns — Study  of  etching  with 
Stock — Painting  and  drawing  with  Oeser  —  Oeser' s  in- 
fluence— A  visit  to  the  Dresden  Gallery. 

VI. — Literary  Influences  and  Poetic  Cre.a.tions  ,  73 
Literary  poverty  of  the  age — Influence  of  Lessing  —  Wie- 
land — Shakespeare — Other  studies — Fertility — Die  Laune 
des  Verliebten — Die  Mitschuldigen — Aversion  to  tragedy — 
Annette  —  Neue  Lieder  —  Traditional  styL-  —  Occasional 
poems  —  Improvement  in  style  —  Illness  —  Kindness  of 
friends. 

VII. — At  Home  Again    .......       90 

Return  from  Leipsic — Family  discord — Dulness  of  Frank- 
fort— Slow  recovery  of  health — Fraulein  von  Klettenberg's 
influence — Study  of  magic — Alchemistical  experiments — 
Other  studies  —  Misunderstanding  with  his  father — De- 
parture for  Strasburg. 

VIII. — Strasburg     ........       95 

Fondness  for  Alsatia  —  Return  of  health  —  Table-d'hdte 
companions  —  Salzmann — Lerse — Jung-Stilling — Tour  of 
Lower  Alsatia  and  Northern  Lorraine — Cards  and  dancing 
— Power  of  fascination — Study  of  law — Candidate's  ex- 
amination— Study  of  medicine — Self-culture — The  cathe- 
dral— Von  deutscher  Baukunst.  h  \0'^  ^^ 

•  IX. — The  Beginning  of  the  Literary  Revolution  .  106 
Origin  of  ihe  Storm-and-Stress  movement  —  Sovereignty 
of  genius — Conformity  to  nature  —  Folk-poetry  — Herder 
the  spirit  of  the  revolution  —  Goethe  the  leader  — 
Herder's  influence — His  conception  of  poetry — His  views 
on  Shakespeare  and  folk-poetry — Shakespeare's  influence 
on  Goethe — Homer's  influence — Ossian's — Goethe's  influ- 
ence on  his  companions — French  literature  condemned — 
Lenz — Moderating  influences. 


I 


Contents  ix 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

X. — Friederike  ........     123 

Goethe's  first  visit  in  Sesenheim — The  Brion  family  and 
the  Vicar  of  Wakefield — Goethe's  letter  to  Friederike — His 
visit  at  Christmas — Friederike  in  Strasburg — Goethe's 
Easter  visit — Confession  of  love — Willkommen  und  Ab- 
schied — Mailied — Friederike's  illness — Goethe's  letters  to 
Salzmann — He  deserts  Friederike — His  reason — Die  neue 
Meltisine. 

XI. — Departure  from  Strasburg       ....     137 
Goethe's  friends  desire  that  he  become  a  professor  in  the 
university — He  prefers  to  carry  out  his  father's  plans — 
Doctor's  dissertation — Disputation — Licentiate  instead  of 
doctor — Tour  of  Upper  Alsatia  — Return  to  Frankfort. 

XII. — Advocate  and  Journalist  .....  141 
Goethe  the  advocate — Gotz — Other  literary  activities — 
Wanderers  Sturmlied — Merck — The  Darmstadt  "saints" 
— Goethe  in  Darmstadt — Die  Frankfurter  Gelehrten  An- 
zeigen — Goethe's  contributions  to  the  journal — Review  of 
the  Gedichte  von  einent  polnischen  Juden — Other  reviews 
— The  journal  changes  hands  and  declines — Goethe  goes 
to  Wetzlar. 


153 


XIII. LOTTE      .  , 

Conditions  at  the  Imperial  Chamber — Goethe's  love  of 
nature — Favourite  haunts — Intercourse  with  the  people 
— Fondness  for  children — The  Round  Table — Kestner's 
portrait  of  Goethe — Charlotte  Buff — Goethe's  first  meet- 
ing with  her — Love  at  first  sight — Lotte's  faithfulness  to 
her  betrothed — Delicacy  of  the  situation — Goethe's  pas- 
sionateness — His  last  evening  with  the  betrothed  couple — 
He  goes  away  without  taking  leave,  but  sends  a  note 
explaining  himself — Gotz  von  Berlichingen — The  second 
redaction — Merck  shares  expense  of  publication. 

XIV.— Gotz  VON  Berlichingen     .  ....     169   ^^ 

Purpose  in  writing  the  play  —  Dramatised  biography — 
Not  intended  for  stage — Shakespeare  the  oracle — Longing 
for  great  men — A  WeisUngen-drama  invented  and  inter- 
woven with  the  G5tz-drama — Weaknesses  of  the  plot — 
Gotz,  Adelheid,  Marie,  Weislingen — The  drama  an  atone- 
ment for  Goethe's  great  wrong  to  Friederike  —  The 
humanistic  spirit  of  Brother  Martin — The  drama  a  protest 
— Innovation  in  technique  and  language — Reception  of  the 
piece  by  contemporaries — Lessing's  adverse  criticism — ■ 
The  drama  to-day :  its  great  world,  great  art,  great 
characters. 


X  Contcnt0 

CHAPTER  PAGS 

XV. — Werther_; .......     182 

1773  a  qmet  year — Goethe's  nearest  friends  scatter — 
Cultivation  of  his  inner  Hfe — Lotte-cult — Death  of  Jeru- 
salem —  The  Werther  mood  —  Thoughts  of  suicide — 
Remedy  sought  in  literary  reproduction — Form  chosen 
— Subjective  elements  wanting  for  second  part  fufnisKed 
by  intercourse  with  Maxe  La  Roche — Method  of  writing 
— Analysis  of  the  plot  —  The  catastrophe  the  natural 
outgrowth  of  Werther's  character — Twofold  motive  of 
"suicide  —  Simplicity  of  plot  —  Wealth  of  scenes  and 
"characters — Style — Success  of  the  novel — Lessing's  ad- 
verse criticism — Werther  craze — Goethe's  world-fame. 

XVI. — After  Werther 203 

The  literary  lion  —  New  productions  and  rumours  of 
others — Lavater  and  Basedow  visitors  in  Goethe's 
home — The  three  in  Ems — Their  journey  to  the  Lower 
Rhine — Goethe  visits  the  Jacobis — Reconciliation  with 
them — Other  new  acquaintances — Visit  to  Jung- Stilling 
— Merry  feast — Goethe  and  Fritz  Jacobi  in  Cologne — 
At  home  again  —  Gigantic  literary  conceptions — Aid 
given  to  other  writers — Klopstock's  visit — Other  visitors 
— By  his  readiness  to  give  financial  help  to  others 
Goethe  becomes  involved  in  debt — Das  Mariagespiel — 
Anna  Sibylla  Miinch — The  princes  of  Weimar  and  suite 
in  Frankfort — Goethe's  reconciliation  with  Wieland — 
Death  of  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg. 

XVII. — LiLi 216 

Goethe's  introduction  to  Lili  Schonemann — Mutual  love 
— Difference  in  their  intellectual  and  social  surroundings 
— Goethe's  discomfort  in  the  Schonemann  salon — De- 
moiselle Delf,  by  her  scheming,  brings  about  an  unex- 
pected betrothal — Goethe  awakes  to  the  situation  and 
longs  to  be  free  again — The  Counts  Stolberg  and  Baron 
Haugwitz  in  Frankfort — Goethe  accompanies  them  on 
a  journey  to  Switzerland — The  boisterous  Storm-and- 
Stress  travellers  —  Goethe  visits  his  sister — She  urges 
him  to  dissolve  his  engagement — The  journey  through 
Switzerland — Lili  occupies  his  thought  and  keeps  him 
from  going  to  Italy — On  the  homeward  journey  Zim- 
mermann  shows  him  a  silhouette  of  Frau  von  Stein 
— Further  intercourse  with  Lili — Her  relatives  and  his 
father  oppose  the  marriage — Goethe,  after  a  severe 
struggle,  resolves  to  end  matters — He  accepts  an  invi- 
tation to  Weimar — Embarrassing  incidents  connected 
with  his  departure. 


i 


Contents  xi 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII. — Clavigo — Stella — Dramatic  Fragments  .     235 

Origin  of  Clavigo  —  Sources  —  Merits  —  Reception — 
Origin  of  Stella — Sources — Prototypes  of  the  characters 
— Ferdinand  (Goethe)  the  central  figure — Incongruities — 
Art  of  characterisation  —  Cdsar  —  Mahomet  —  Prome- 
theus— Satyros — Hanswursts.  Hochzeit. 

XIX. — The  Weimar  Court  of  the  Muses  .  .  .  254 
Weimar  in  1775 — Anna  Amalia — Wieland — Knebel — 
Count  Goertz — Minister  von  Fritsch — The  chamber- 
lains —  Musaus  —  Bertuch  —  Kraus  —  Duchess  Luise 
— Charlotte  von  Stein  —  Fraulein  von  Gochhausen  — 
Baroness  von  Werthern — Countess  von  Werthern — 
Corona  Schroter  —  Frau  Schardt  —  Karl  August:  his 
artistic  sense,  poetic  temperament,  idealism,  love  of 
nature,  simplicity  and  originality,  hatred  of  Court 
formalities,  liberality,  progressiveness  —  Weimar  the 
centre  of  German  culture — The  youthful  Court — Its 
significance  for  Goethe. 


; 


XX. — Arrival  in  Weimar 275 

Wieland  concerning  Goethe — Storm  and  Stress  at  the 
ducal  Court — Cult  of  nature — Gay,  unrestrained  life 
— Mutterings  of  scandalised  feelings — Goethe's  reasons 
for  sharing  in  the  wild  life — His  influence  on  the  Duke 
— He  guides  from  pleasure  to  work — Klopstock's  warn- 
ing— Pure  motives  work  mischief — Calling  of  Herder 
— Ministerial  crisis  —  Fritsch  threatens  to  resign  if 
Goethe  is  taken  into  the  Privy  Council  —  Duchess 
Dowager  brings  about  a  reconciliation — The  Duke's 
confidence  in  Goethe — The  poet's  influence  in  office — 
The  benefit  to  him — His  Gartenhaus — His  new  love. 

4  XXI. — Frau  von  Stein 299 

Secret  of  Frau  von  Stein's  influence  on  Goethe — Weimar 
shocked  at  their  intimacy — Goethe's  influence  on  Frau 
von  Stein — Her  inner  struggle — She  seeks  to  keep  him 
within  bounds — Proserpina — He  seeks  to  replace  love 
with  friendship,  till  he  discovers  that  his  love  is  re- 
turned— Marriage  of  souls — Extraordinary  influence  on 
Goethe  and  his  later  writings — He  takes  her  into  all  his 
secrets  and  writes  for  her — Gloomy  forebodings. 

XXII. — The  Minister 309 

Goethe's  political  education  —  Extensive  intercourse 
with  statesmen — Rare  power  and  habit  of  observation 
— Attitude  toward  literature  read — Karl  August's  edu- 
cation— Description  of  the  duchy  —  Goethe  educates 
the  Duke  up  to  his  ideas  of  government — Method  and 


xii  (Tontente 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

results — The  Duke's  reception  of  his  guidance — Goethe 
often  misunderstood — The  Weimar  factotum — Lends 
willing  hand  in  times  of  need — Introduces  order  into 
War  Department — Reforms  Treasury  Department — So- 
cial and  political  reforms  planned,  but  only  partially 
carried  out — In  international  politics — Visit  to  Berlin 
— Weimar's  dangerous  position — League  of  Princes. 

XXIII. — Egmont 327 

Connection  between  Gotz  and  Egmont  —  Demonic 
element  in  latter — Origin  and  composition — Defects 
in  plot — Demonic  heedlessness  the  sole  motive — Eg- 
mont's  character  and  his  rdle  in  the  drama — Other 
characters — Charm  of  the  play  in  spite  of  its  defects. 

XXIV. — ^Journey  to  the  Harz  and  to  Switzerland  .  337 
Goethe's  need  of  recreation — Reason  for  travelling  in 
winter — Route  to  the  Harz  Mountains — Visit  to  Plessing 
— Ascent  of  the  Brocken — Its  effect  on  him — Return  to 
Weimar — Loneliness  in  the  midst  of  gay  life — Letter  to 
his  mother  announcing  visit  in  company  with  Karl 
August  and  Wedel — Off  for  Switzerland — The  party  in 
Goethe's  home  in  Frankfort — Mother's  account — Goethe 
visits  Friederike  in  Sesenheim  and  Lili  in  Strasburg — 
Emmendingen  —  Tour  of  Switzerland  :  Miinstertal, 
Bernese  Oberland,  Lauterbrunnen,  Tschingel  Glacier, 
Grindelwald,  Interlaken,  Lake  Geneva,  Jura  Mountains, 
Chamouni,  Montanvert  and  view  of  Mont  Blanc,  over 
the  Furca,  ascent  of  St.  Gothard,  Zurich — Lavater — 
Jery  und  Bdtely — Schiller  at  the  Hohe  Karlsschule — 
Court  visits  on  return  journey — Again  in  Frankfort — 
Back  to  Weimar. 

XXV. — Inner  Struggles        ......     355 

Effect  of  Swiss  journey  on  Goethe — Greater  devotion 
to  official  duties — His  friend  Merck  and  his  mother  ob- 
ject to  his  continuing  in  office — He  remains  firm — Leaves 
his  Gartenhaus  and  moves  into  Weimar  —  Increased 
isolation  and  silence — Premonitions  of  early  death — 
Mineralogical  studies  —  Fragmente  ilber  den  Granit — 
Discovery  of  the  intermaxillary  —  Discovery  of  the 
metamorphosis  of  plants — Inner  longing  for  further 
scientific  and  literary  production  —  Hindrances — Con- 
sciousness of  his  real  calling — On  the  wheel  of  Ixion 
— Intercourse  with  Frau  von  Stein  disturbed — Health 
undermined  —  Second  Werther  crisis  —  Yearning  for 
Italy — Determination  to  seek  refuge  in  flight — Steals 
away  from  Karlsbad. 


Contents  xiii 


CHAPTER 

XXVL— Italy 


PAGE 


368 


Goethe  unspeakably  happy  to  be  free — Mad  haste  to 
reach  Italy,  for  fear  he  may  be  called  back  —  Route 
taken  —  Feelings  on  entering  Italy — Chief  interest  in 
works  of  antiquity — Completely  Italianised  in  Verona 
— Vicenza — Enraptured  with  Palladio — Desire  to  share 
in  the  lives  of  men — Padua — Venice — The  sea — Out- 
burst of  hostility  toward  the  Gothic — Palladio  again 

Goethe  cares  for  no  art  but  the  antique  and  its  best  re- 
flections in  the  Renaissance — Feverish  longing  to  be  in 
Rome  —  Three  days  in  Bologna  —  Three  hours  in 
Florence  —  Rome  at  last — First  impressions — New  life 
— Study  of  the  antique — Michael  Angelo — Raphael — 
Elements  of  the  antique  that  please  Goethe — His  in- 
cognito— Tischbein  and  other  friends — Frau  von  Stein's 
feelings  concerning  Goethe's  flight  —  Goethe's  diary, 
written  for  her,  but  not  sent  for  months — Her  scathing 
reproof — Painful  situation — Peace  restored — Absorbed 
in  study  of  antique  art — Journey  to  Naples — Enjoy- 
ment of  life  and  nature — Ascents  of  Vesuvius  during 
eruptions — Paestum — Tour  of  Sicily — Dramatic  scene  on 
return  voyage — Study  of  common  people  in  Naples — 
In  Rome  again — Supreme  happiness — Art  studies,  and 
discoveries  as  to  his  own  talents — Study  of  music  with 
Kayser — Maddalena  Riggi — Faustina — Sad  farewell  to 
Rome — Florence — Parma — Milan — Return  to  Weimar 
— Significance  of  the  Italian  journey — Clear  conscious- 
ness of  his  true  calling — Complete  harmony  of  his  nature 
— Literary  work — Seraphic  tendency  overcome — Poetry 
of  humanity  in  its  totality — The  thirteenth  Romische 
Ele^ie  —  Master  of  style  —  The  typical — Plasticity — 
True  art. 

Notes 417 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Goethe  in  his  30th  Year        .         .         .        Frontispiece 

From  a  portrait  by  May 

In  the  possession  of  the  Baron  von  Cotta,  Stuttgart 

(From  Life  and  Times  of  Goschen,  by  permission  of 

John  Murray) 


Goethe,  -^tat    15         .         .         .         .         .         .         .26 

(From  Goethe  Briefe,  by  permission  of  Eisner,  Berlin) 

Klopstock 50 

After  the  painting  by  Fuel 

(From  Life  and  Times  of  Goschen,  by  permission  of 

John  Murray) 

Lessing 74 

(From  Konnecke's  Bilderatlas) 

Wieland 78 

From  an  engraving  by  M.  Steinla  after  the  portrait  by 

F.  Fagemann 

(From  Life  and  Times  of  Goschen,  by  permission  of 

John  Murray) 

Herder no 

From  the  painting  by  von  Graff 

Lili      .         .         . 218 

(From  Heinemann's  Goethe) 

XV 


xvi  miustrations 

PAGE 

Karl  August 256 

(From  Heinemann's  Goethe) 

Goethe's  House  at  Weimar 266 

(From  Konnecke's  Bilderatlas) 

Frau  von  Stein 300 

(From  Konnecke's  Bilderatlas) 


The  Life  of  Goethe 


The  Life  of  Goethe 


INTRODUCTION 

Goethe  the  most  human  of  men — Difficulty  of  understanding  him — Per- 
fect amalgamation  of  all  his  faculties — The  seeming  contradictions 
in  his  nature — First  half  of  his  life  spent  in  establishing  harmony 
among  all  his  powers — His  tendency  toward  the  good — Extreme 
sensitiveness — His  life  the  greatest  of  his  works. 

WIELAND,  wishing  to  characterise  his  most  promi- 
nent contemporaries,  called  Klopstock  the  most 
poetical,  Herder  the  most  scholarly,  Lavater  the 
most  Christian,  and  Goethe  the  most  human  of  men. 

Wieland  made  the  other  remarkable  statement,  that 
Goethe  was  misunderstood  because  so  few  are  capable  of 
forming  a  correct  conception  of  such  a  man.  Why  is  it  so 
difficult  to  form  an  estimate  of  this  most  human  of  men? 
It  is  certainly  not  because  of  the  greatness  of  his  mental 
faculties;  for  poetry,  hero-worship,  and  the  history  of  re- 
ligion prove  that  the  ordinary  mortal  has  sufficient  talent 
for  grasping  such  ideals,  although  not  much  given  to  ex- 
ercising it  on  contemporaries.  It  was  hardly  Goethe's 
inward  greatness  alone  that  Wieland,  and  others  whose 
judgment  coincided  with  his,  had  in  mind.  They  were 
thinking,  rather,  of  the  complete  harmony  of  his  nature. 

Goethe  was  the  most  human  of  all  men,  because  he  had 
been  endowed  with  a  portion  of  everything  human.  His 
figure  was  typical  in  its  mould,  the  very  ideal  of  perfect  man. 
Hence  it  was  that  all  who  came  in  touch  with  him  had  the 

VOL.   I. 1. 


2  Zbc  %\tc  of  (Boetbc 

feeling  that  they  had  never  before  seen  such  a  complete 
man. 

There  may  have  been  others  of  clearer  understanding, 
of  greater  energy,  of  deeper  feelings,  or  of  more  vivid 
imagination,  but  it  is  quite  certain  that  there  never  was  an 
individual  in  whom  all  these  faculties  were  united  in  such 
striking  proportions.  And,  moreover,  there  has  rarely 
been  an  individual  of  such  highly  developed  powers  of  soul, 
whose  physical  life  has  so  fully  retained  its  independence  and 

.  has  so  thoroughly  permeated  the  spiritual.  This  wonder- 
fully perfect  amalgamation  of  Goethe's  nattu"e  elevates  it 
to  the  rank  of  the  extraordinary,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
accounts  for  its  seemingly  contradictory  manifestations. 
But  it  is  this  seeming  contradictoriness  ^  that  has  made  it 
so  difficult  for  most  people  to  obtain  a  correct  and  adequate 
idea  of  him. 

He  observes  colour  refractions  like  a  physicist,  examines 
bones  and  Hgaments  Hke  an  anatomist,  and  comments  on 
bankrupt  law  like  a  jurist.  Gifted  with  imusual  clearness 
in  the  comprehension  and  analysis  of  men  and  things,  his 
early  appearance  on  the  stage  of  action  is  marked  by  the 
wisdom  and  experience  of  a  man  of  the  world  and  a  diplomat. 
And  yet  this  same  man  writes  poetry  overflowing  with 
imagination,  goes  about  in  the  real  world  absorbed  in 
dreams,  sees  many  things  and  many  people,  not  as  they 
are,  but  in  the  light  of  his  own  fancy,  is  frequently  incapable 
of  making  out  a  clear  understanding  of  objects  and  their 
mutual  relations,  and  stands  in  the  midst  of  human  activi- 
ties a  naive  and  often  helpless  child.  This  man  at  one 
time  grasps  the  world  in  the  warm  embrace  of  a  Faust  and 
again  he  spurns  it  with  the  annihilating  contempt  of  a 
Mephistopheles. 

i  }  Like  a  plant  he  is  influenced  by  wind  and  weather,  but 
at  times  is  wholly  indifferent  to  them.  He  cordially  loves 
life  because  of  the  esthetic  enjoyment  in  influential  ex- 
istence, and  yet  he  rides  into  a  storm  of  bullets  merely 
to  know  the  terror  of  battle.  He  is  the  most  faithful,  sin- 
cere, and  sacrificing  friend,   the  most  ardent  and  devoted 


Untrobuctlon  3 

lover,  and  yet  in  a  fit  of  passion  he  can  bitterly  offend  a 
friend  and  even  the  woman  he  loves.  He,  who,  in  the 
words  of  Herder, "  was  a  man  in  every  step  of  his  life,"  whom 
Lavater  and  Knebel  worshipped  as  a  hero,  and  of  whom 
even  the  hardened  soul  of  Napoleon  was  compelled  to  ex- 
claim, "  Voild,  un  homme,"  is  at  times  hazardously  indulgent 
to  the  wishes  and  pleadings  of  his  own  heart,  allowing  himself 
to  drift  instead  of  steering,  and  is  inclined  to  that  tenderness, 
always  bordering  on  tears,  which  Schiller  fittingly  designates 
"femininity  of  feeling."  Even  though  his  spirit,  stripped 
of  all  earthly  weight,  soars  in  regions  beyond  the  realm  of 
sense,  still  he  has  his  feet  firmly  fixed  on  the  earth,  and 
enjoys  every  little  sensual  pleasure,  even  if  it  be  but  the 
plums  and  cakes  which  Marianne  von  Willemer  sends  him 
from  home.  The  extreme  delicacy  and  infallibility  of  his 
taste  in  art  criticism  characterises  in  equal  measure  his 
judgment  of  Rhenish  and  Burgundian  wines.  A  pro- 
nounced northern  and  Germanic  ^  nature,  passionately  fond 
of  skating,  used  to  bathing  in  winter  in  the  cold  waters 
of  the  Ilm,  eager  to  take  long  winter  walks  in  the  Harz 
Moimtains  and  over  the  glaciers  of  Switzerland,  the  author 
of  such  specifically  northern  and  Germanic  creations  as 
Gotz,  Faust,  Hermann  und  Dorothea,  and  of  such  mystic, 
spectre  ballads  as  Der  Erlkonig,  Der  Totentanz,  Der  untreue 
Knabe,  and  Die  erste  Walpurgisnacht,  he  feels,  beneath  the 
clear  sky  and  in  the  soft  air  of  Italy,  surrounded  by  the 
works  of  classic  and  Renaissance  art,  as  if  it  were  his 
native  land,  from  which  he  has  long  been  exiled;  and  yet 
even  in  the  Borghese  gardens,  he  has  enough  of  his  northern 
nature  left  to  write  that  most  fantastic  of  scenes,  Die 
Hexenkilche.  Modem  through  and  through,  in  fact,  a  son 
of  the  future  in  many  respects,  he  feels,  on  the  other  hand, 
so  thoroughly  antique  that  he  thinks  he  must  have  ex- 
perienced a  previous  existence  in  the 'reign  of  Hadrian.^ 
Though  always  insistent  in  his  search  after  clearness,  he 
delights  in  mysticism,  introduces  an  indefinable  demonic 
element  into  his  world-system,  is  inclined  to  believe  in 
the  transmigration  of  souls,  and  is  easily  influenced  by 


4  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

premonitions,  prognostics,  omens,  and  superstitions.  This 
man,  of  matchless  gentleness  and  patience,  ordinarily, 
could,  on  occasion,  be  seized  by  such  a  passion  that  he 
would  gnash  his  teeth  and  stamp  his  foot.  He  could  be 
calm  or  violently  excited ;  bubble  over  with  good  cheer  or 
be  wrapped  in  the  gloom  of  melancholy ;  feel  perfectly  con- 
fident and  self-assured  or  torture  himself  with  scepticism. 
As  an  Ubermensch  he  sometimes  felt  the  strength  to  dash 
a  world  to  pieces,  and  at  other  times  was  so  weak  and 
faint-hearted  as  to  be  annoyed  by  a  pebble  in  his  path. 

These  several  inconsistencies  are  manifested  according 
as  one  or  another  faculty  of  his  soul  has  the  upper  hand,  or 
the  same  faculty  is  employed  with  the  whole  weight  of  its 
power  in  this  or  in  that  direction,  or  his  senses  assert  their 
rights  over  his  spiritual  nature,  or  his  spirit  overrides  his 
senses.  It  may  be  said  that  half  of  Goethe's  life  was  gone 
before  he  succeeded  in  adjusting  an  equilibrium  between 
his  body  and  spirit  and  establishing  a  just  balance  among 
his  various  mental  faculties,  so  as  to  avoid  serious  dis- 
turbances in  his  inner  and  outer  life.  So  fortunately,  how- 
ever, was  this  human  being  constituted  by  nature,  that  in 
every  faculty  of  his  soul  the  tendency  toward  the  positive, 
the  good,  and  the  wholesome,  both  for  himself  and  the 
world,  infinitely  outweighed  every  other  tendency,  so  that 
even  in  times  of  struggle  he  never  injured  himself  or  the 
world  permanently,  but,  on  the  contrary,  usually  advanced 
from  victory  to  victory  and  in  the  end  proved  himself  to  be 
a  benefactor.  Hence  those  who  knew  him  more  intimately 
never  reached  the  point  when,  because  of  his  temporary 
one-sidedness  and  excesses,  they  were  unable  to  make  him 
out;  they  felt  as  Knebel,  who  said  of  his  moral  character, 
"I  know  very  well  he  is  not  always  amiable;  he  has  re- 
pulsive sides,  as  I  know  well  from  experience.  But  sum 
him  up  and  the  man's  totality  is  infinitely  good."  Or  their 
opinion  of  his  morals  and  intellect  coincided  with  Herder's : 
"  He  has  a  clear,  universal  intellect,  most  genuine  and  most 
profound  feelings,  and  the  greatest  purity  of  heart." 

There  is  no  great  gift  in  this  world  which  is  not  at  the 


Untrobuctlon  5 

same  time  a  burden  to  its  possessor.  Goethe's  life  was 
eminently  rich  in  this  experience ;  he  suffered  sorely  under 
the  burden  of  his  great  natural  gifts.  Because  of  his  ex- 
cessive sensitiveness,  his  straightforwardness,  and  his  good- 
ness and  purity  of  heart,  he  was  deeply  offended  by  any 
form  of  perversity,  impurity,  or  misery,  his  glowing  imagina- 
tion even  picturing  to  him  enmity  and  evil  where  none  ex- 
isted, and,  furthered  by  his  passionate  energy,  magnifying 
every  unpleasant  circumstance  until  it  became  unbearable. 
At  such  times  he  raged  at  himself  and  others,  but  a  moment 
later,  when  he  became  conscious  of  his  error,  he  was  pain- 
fully grieved  over  the  wrong  he  had  done.  He  even  went 
to  further  extremes.  Grateful  as  he  was  to  the  gods  that 
his  quick  and  versatile  genius  could  "split  a  day  into  a 
million  parts  and  transform  it  into  a  miniature  eternity," 
still  it  was  no  small  affliction  for  him  to  harbour  in  his  mind 
this  pandemonium  of  invisible  spirits  without  being  able  to 
cultivate  each  of  them  as  he  ought.  Even  a  quiet,  inno- 
cent pleasure  could  stir  his  sensitive  soul  to  its  very  depths ; 
he  could  be  brought  to  tears  by  a  happy  poetical  inven- 
tion ■* ;  a  scientific  discovery  would  send  a  thrill  through 
every  fibre  of  his  being;  and  the  beauty  of  a  scene  in 
Calderon's  Principe  Constante  excited  him  to  such  a  pitch 
that  he  stopped  short  and  threw  down  the  book  with  the 
impetuosity  of  a  child.* 

Only  a  man  thus  constituted  could  remark  in  his  old 
age,  that  it  had  been  his  lot  to  bear  a  succession  of  joys 
and  sorrows,  either  of  which,  without  the  other,  might 
have  put  an  end  to  his  life.f 

His  happiness  was  never  more  than  half  complete  be- 
cause of  his  longing  for  something  different,  something 
higher,  in  the  very  moment  when  his  former  desires  were 
being  realised.  He  shared  this  feeling  with  all  other  men 
whose  minds  transcend  the  dulness  of  the  common  Philis- 
tine.    But  in  his  peculiar  mental  makeup  this  feeling  was 

*  The  reading  referred  to  occurred  in  March,   1807.     C£.   Weimar's 
Album,  193. 

t  Letter  to  Rauch,  October  21,  1827. 


6  ii[)c  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

especially  keen  and  annoying,  producing  an  example  of 
Faust's  ideal  of  a  great  life : 

5m  SBcitcrfc^rcitcn  finb'  cr  £lual  unb  ®IM, 
©r !  iinbefriebigt  jeben  ^lugenblicf.* 

Those  who  saw  about  his  personality  the  rich  halo  of 
innumerable  colours  regarded  the  poetic  radiations  as  only 
a  small  part  of  its  splendour,  and  considered  the  man  greater 
than  the  poet,  and  his  life  better  than  his  poetry.  And 
we,  too,  after  the  many  intervening  years,  endeavouring  by 
study  and  imagination  to  reproduce  in  our  own  minds 
Goethe's  great  personality,  are  impressed  with  the  same 
idea.  To  us  the  most  valuable,  most  attractive,  most 
wonderful  of  all  his  works  is  his  life.  But  it  would  be  a 
mistake  for  us  to  think  that  it  was  the  product  of  con- 
scious art.  If  it  is  true  of  his  poetical  works  that  they  owe 
their  most  essential  character  to  inexplicable,  unconscious 
impulses,  it  is  true  in  a  still  greater  measure  of  his  life.  To 
be  sure,  he  sought  early  in  life,  though  all  but  in  vain,^  to 
overcome  the  supremacy  of  instinct  (Dumpfheit),  of  which 
he  was  conscious  in  his  life  and  actions,  and  to  order  and 
shape  his  further  career  in  accordance  with  certain  definite 
purposes.  It  was  not  until  middle  life  that  he  was  sure 
even  of  his  chief  aim.  When  this  was  settled,  his  active 
control  was  scarcely  anything  more  than  a  negative  one, 
consisting  in  warding  off  everything  that  might  cause  him 
to  swerve  from  his  due  course.  Otherwise  he  yielded  to 
his  dominant  instincts  as  heretofore.  Fritz  Jacobi's  judg- 
ment of  him  at  the  age  of  twenty-five  is,  on  the  whole,  true 
of  him  at  all  periods  of  his  life : 

' '  Goethe  is  as  one  possessed,  and  almost  never  has  any 
choice  as  to  what  he  shall  do.  It  takes  only  an  hour  in  his 
presence  to  convince  one  of  the  utter  folly  of  expecting  him 
to  think  or  act  otherwise  than  he  does.     By  this  I  do  not 

*  In  marching  onwards,  bliss  and  torment  find, 
Though    every  moment,  with  unsated  mind. 

Taylor's  Translation. 


Untro^uction  7 

mean  that  there  is  no  room  for  improving  his  life  esthetic- 
ally  and  morally;  but  such  a  thing  is  possible  only  in  the 
natural  order  of  development,  just  as  the  flower  unfolds, 
the  seed  ripens,  the  tree  towers  aloft  and  spreads  out  its 
mighty  branches." 


HOME   AND   FAMILY 

Birth  of  the  poet — Social  and   political  conditions  in  Frankfort^Ad- 
vantages  of  the  imperial  city — Goethe's  ancestors — His  parents. 

JOHANN  WOLFGANG  GOETHE  was  bom  in  Frank- 
fort-on-the-Main,  on  the  28th  day  of  August,  1749. 
His  native  city,  or,  as  the  people  of  Frankfort  ex- 
pressed themselves  in  those  days,  his  "fatherland,"'^  was 
not  a  very  cheerful  place.  Numbering  but  little  over 
thirty  thousand  ^  souls,  Frankfort  was  still,  both  in  its 
inner  and  its  outer  life,  in  the  galling  bonds  and  cramped 
confinement  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Moat,  rampart,  and  walls 
enclosed  a  tangled  confusion  of  crooked  streets,  where  yet 
other  walls  of  monasteries  and  castellated  mansions  arose 
like  fortresses  within  a  fortress  and  intensified  the  gloomy 
aspect  of  the  city.  The  inhabitants  still  clung  to  the  old 
rigid  class  distinctions:  at  the  bottom  of  the  scale  a  great 
mass  almost  without  legal  protection;  next  the  guilds; 
then  the  merchants  and  doctors;  and,  at  the  top,  the 
patricians,  the  nobility.  Each  class  was  subdivided  into 
manifold  grades.  Even  the  nobility  was  split  up  into  two 
factions,  upholding  respectively  the  house  of  Limpurg  and 
that  of  Frauenstein.  The  social  and  political  structure  of 
Frankfort  resembled,  accordingly,  a  tower  broad  at  the  base 
and  growing  narrower  as  it  rose,  each  separate  story  divided 
into  numerous  cages,  through  the  gratings  of  which  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  pass.  Those  who  were  not  separated 
by  birth,  position,  or  occupation  were  sundered  by  religious 
differences.     The    major    portion    of    the    population   was 

8 


Ibome  anb  jfamili?  9 

Lutheran,  but  no  inconsiderable  numbers  belonged  to  the 
Reformed,  Catholic,  and  Jewish  faiths.  That  the  Jews 
were  allowed  no  civic  influence  was  a  matter  of  course  in  a 
German  city  of  the  eighteenth  century.  But  the  Catholics 
and  the  Reformed  were  also  utterly  excluded  from  par- 
ticipation in  the  government  and  were  often  compelled  to 
suffer  intensely  under  Lutheran  domination.  Furthermore, 
the  members  of  the  different  classes  ^  and  different  religious 
societies  became  by  their  own  volition  slaves  of  their 
opinions,  habits,  and  customs,  a  thraldom  from  which  even 
strong  and  courageous  minds  in  the  upper  classes  did  not 
find  it  easy  to  liberate  themselves. 

But  Frankfort  at  that  time  suffered  no  more  than  the 
majority  of  German  cities  under  all  this  narrowness  and 
oppression.  On  the  other  hand,  it  possessed  a  number  of 
advantages  which  raised  it  above  many  of  them.  By  vir- 
tue of  its  favoured  situation  at  the  gateway  of  Middle  and 
Upper  Germany,  it  was  a  lively  centre  of  domestic  and 
foreign  trade.  Great  annual  fairs  at  Easter  and  Michael- 
mas assembled  within  its  precincts  merchants  from  Western 
and  Central  Germany  and  from  regions  far  beyond.  Be- 
sides, it  was  at  all  times  a  stopping-place  for  all  sorts  of 
travellers.  Both  Voltaire  and  the  King  of  Prussia  were 
seen  within  its  walls.  Yoimg  Englishmen,  too,  and  French- 
men who  wished  to  learn  the  German  language  were  even 
then  to  be  found  there.  Thanks  to  its  situation  it  was, 
further,  the  natural  meeting-place  for  the  Assembly  of  the 
District  of  the  Upper  Rhine,  and  if  the  western  districts, 
Franconia,  Swabia,  the  Upper  Rhine,  the  Electorate  of  the 
Rhine,  and  Westphalia,  had  any  matter  for  common  con- 
sultation, Frankfort  was  the  most  convenient  place  of 
meeting.  Furthermore,  the  imperial  commissions,  which 
had  many  a  dispute  to  settle  among  the  hundreds  of  lords, 
spiritual  and  temporal,  along  the  Rhine,  were  wont  to  hold 
their  sessions  here.  Many  of  the  German  princes,  accord- 
ingly, and  especially  those  of  the  neighbouring  states, 
maintained  here  permanent  representatives.  Finally, 
Frankfort  was  historically  a  favotired  city.     As  the  seat 


lo  Zhc  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

of  the  election  and  coronation  of  the  German  emperors,  it 
was  frequently  the  scene  of  a  gorgeous  pageant. 

For  young  Goethe  it  was  an  especial  advantage  to  be 
bom  in  the  free  city.  In  that  period  of  limitations  only 
those  who  belonged  to  the  ruling  classes  enjoyed  an  un- 
restricted freedom  of  movement  and  breadth  of  horizon. 
In  a  monarchy  Goethe  would  have  been  excluded  from  this 
liberty.  In  the  Frankfort  republic,  however,  he  belonged 
to  the  ruling  class  and  hence  enjoyed  the  rights,  amenities, 
and  favours  which  in  a  monarchy  are  vouchsafed  only  to 
princes. 

His  maternal  grandfather,  Johann  Wolfgang  Textor, 
scion  of  a  South  German  family  of  jurists,  had  been  at  the 
time  of  the  poet's  birth  for  two  years  in  possession  of  the 
highest  dignity  in  the  city,  an  appointment  for  life  to 
the  office  of  chief  magistrate  of  the  imperial  city.  He  filled 
this  office  with  great  ability  and  conscientiousness  imtil 
his  seventy-seventh  year  (1770),  when  he  resigned  on  ac- 
count of  his  age.  In  his  youth,  fond  of  life  and  the 
society  of  women,  he  always  remained  kindly,  but  became 
a  serious  man,  of  few  words  and  strict  self-control.  The 
reverence  which  the  grandson  felt  for  his  grandfather, 
whose  life  was  so  punctilious,  so  placid,  so  faithfully  de- 
voted to  duty,  was  rendered  complete  by  the  fact  that  the 
gift  of  prophecy  was  ascribed  to  him.  It  must  have  exerted 
a  determining  influence  upon  young  Goethe  to  see  his  aged 
grandfather  towering  above  his  fellow-citizens  in  experience 
and  business  ability  as  well  as  in  liberality  of  thought. 
When,  in  the  year  1736,  the  city  council  refused  to  grant  a 
sick  soldier  of  the  Reformed  Church  his  request  for  the 
consolation  of  a  minister  of  his  own  faith,  he  remarked  in 
his  record:  "Sat  quidem  orihodoxe  juxta  opinionem  vulgi, 
sed  contra  naturalem  csquitatem  et  charitatem.*'  * 

The  wife  of  the  chief  magistrate  was  a  daughter  of 
Attorney  Lindheimer  of  the  Imperial  Chamber,  but  a 
woman   of  no  personal  prominence.     She  seems  to  have 

*  "  Quite  orthodox  according  to  the  opinion  of  the  masses,  but  con- 
trary to  natural  justice  and  charity." — Cf.  Ber.  d.  FDH.,  N.  F.,  7,  204. 


Ibome  anb  Jfamili?  n 

been  a  good  housewife,  who  cared  well  for  her  husband  and 
five  children. 

While  Goethe  on  his  mother's  side  sprang  from  a  family 
of  scholars  and  officials,  on  his  father's  side  the  roots  of  his 
family  tree  reached  down  to  craftsmen.  And  while  his 
maternal  ancestors  came  to  Frankfort  from  the  south  of 
Germany,  on  his  father's  side  they  came  from  the  north, 
from  the  region  between  the  Thuringian  Forest  and  the 
Harz  Mountains.  The  poet's  temperament  came,  then, 
from  the  happy  amalgamation  of  two  classes  and  two 
races.  The  grandfather,  Friedrich  Georg  Goethe,  was  the 
son  of  a  farrier.  He  learned  the  tailor's  trade,  but  did  not 
remain  faithful  to  his  calling.  After  he  had  married  his 
second  wife,  ComeHa  Schellhom,  owner  of  the  Weidenhof 
in  Frankfort,  he  became  an  innkeeper,  and  in  this  capacity 
increased  the  fortune  he  had  already  accumulated.  The 
grandson  did  not  know  him  personally,  as  he  died  before 
the  boy's  birth.  The  grandmother,  on  the  other  hand, 
lived  to  enjoy  Wolfgang's  early  years.  He  describes  her 
as  a  beautiful,  spare  woman  of  gentle,  benevolent  character, 
always  neatly  dressed  in  white. 

To  his  grandparents  was  bom  in  the  year  17  lo  their 
third  child,  Johann  Caspar  Goethe,  father  of  the  poet. 
After  he  had  been  prepared  for  the  university  at  the 
Coburg  Gymnasium,  he  studied  law  four  years  in  Leipsic,' 
practised  at  the  Imperial  Chamber  in  Wetzlar,  and  in  the 
year  1738  obtained  at  the  University  of  Giessen  the  title 
of  Doctor  of  Jurisprudence,  presenting  a  good  dissertation 
upon  a  point  in  the  law  of  inheritance.  The  ambitious 
man,  however,  did  not  consider  his  education  now  finished, 
but  sought  to  round  it  out  further  by  a  year  of  travel. 
Toward  the  end  of  1739  he  travelled  through  Austria  by 
way  of  Graz,  and  Laibach,  and  in  Italy  as  far  south  as 
Naples,  returning  home  by  way  of  France.  Accustomed 
to  plain  living  and  strict  economy  at  home,  the  expensive- 
ness,  extortions,  and  discomforts  of  Italian  travel  made  him 
"incredibly  glad"  when  he  had  turned  his  back  on  Rome  and 
Naples.     But  in  later  life  he  always  spoke  enthusiastically 


12  Zbc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

of  the  glories  of  the  southland,  and  it  was  his  most  earnest 
wish  that  his  son  might  some  day  see  them. 

As  a  rich,  well-informed,  and  experienced  man  it  was 
his  ambition  to  have  the  city  council  bestow  upon  him  an 
office  without  salary,  but  also  without  the  formality  of  an 
election.  When  this  desire  was  not  gratified  the  sensitive 
gentleman  declared  he  would  never  after  accept  any  office 
in  the  service  of  his  city  and,  in  order  to  fortify  himself 
against  any  possible  temptation  to  break  his  vow,  procured 
(1742)  the  title  and  rank  of  an  imperial  councillor,  which 
put  him  on  an  equality  with  the  highest  dignitaries  of  the 
city  and  prevented  his  accepting  any  office  of  inferior  rank. 
Not  yet  fully  satisfied,  his  son  asserts,  he  wooed  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  chief  magistrate,  because  a  son-in-law  of  a  member 
of  the  council  would  be  excluded  ^°  from  the  council  ac- 
cording to  the  constitution  of  the  city.  Thus  a  capable 
man,  who  would  have  been  abundantly  happy  in  the  prac- 
tice of  his  profession,  retired  from  active  life,  and  in  an  un- 
occupied, unfruitful  seclusion  deepened  the  shadows  that 
obscured  his  excellences.  For  he  was  not  wanting  in 
these.  To  a  liberal  education  he  added  an  acute  thirst  for 
knowledge  and  a  strong  interest  in  art,  and  to  a  thoroughly 
honest  character  a  soft  and  tender  heart  and  warm  love  for 
his  children,  for  whose  best  interests  he  shunned  no  trouble 
or  sacrifice.  Nevertheless,  these  beautiful  qualities  ex- 
erted no  real  beneficent  influence  upon  his  family.  His 
systematic,  exacting  method  forced  all  his  children's  in- 
dividualities into  one  rigid,  pedagogical  mould;  he  always 
demanded  tangible  evidence  of  utility  and  insisted  upon 
a  consistency  and  a  perseverance  thoroughly  distasteful  to 
young  children.  In  order  the  more  readily  to  induce  his 
children  to  such  conduct  he  enveloped  his  loving  nature 
in  a  rough  exterior  and  imposed  upon  himself  a  cheerless 
iron  austerity.  To  this  was  added  the  embitterment  which 
remained  from  his  experiences  in  life,  and  withal  a  fretful 
irascibility  which  made  every  real  or  fancied  wrong  painful 
and  intolerable. 

Such  a  peculiar  disposition  caused  the  mother  no  less 


1bome  an^  Jfamll^  13 

suffering  than  the  children.  She  assumed  toward  him  more 
the  position  of  a  child  than  that  of  his  proper  equal.  When 
only  seventeen  years  of  age,  Katharina  Elisabeth  Textor 
had  been  suddenly  thrust  from  her  childhood  joys  into  the 
serious  duties  of  a  housewife.  Her  husband  was  her  senior 
by  twenty-one  years,  so  that  in  age  she  was  nearer  to  her 
first  children  than  to  him.  Between  their  mental  and 
moral  attainments  there  yawned  no  less  a  chasm,  which  was 
never  bridged  over  by  warm  affection.  She  had  grown  up 
in  the  freedom  of  youth,  without  any  higher  education,  and 
her  learned  husband  felt  it  his  duty  to  fill  up  the  gaps  in  the 
training  of  his  young  wife.  So  he  taught  her  Itahan  and 
kept  her  busy  writing  compositions,  practising  the  piano 
and  singing.  In  consideration  of  her  other  duties  he  was 
obhged,  much  to  his  regret,  no  doubt,  to  forego  several 
other  plans  he  had  in  mind  for  her  improvement.  But  his 
good  wife  was  in  no  sense  in  need  of  all  his  learning.  Nature 
had  bestowed  upon  her  better  gifts :  a  sound  observation  of 
men  and  things ;  an  ever  serene  and  cheerful  disposition, 
that  cast  every  black  thought  at  the  devil's  feet ;  an  ever 
active  imagination,  upon  which  she  could  draw  as  a  per- 
petual source  of  stories ;  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  beautiful 
in  nature  and  poetry;  the  gift  of  felicitous  expression; 
boundless  patience  with  others'  actions,  which  never  per- 
mitted her  to  preach  morals  to  any  one ;  and  the  tact  and 
inclination  to  exert  at  all  times  an  influence  which  made 
for  peace  and  good- will.  When  especially  difficult  moments 
came  and  her  innate  and  happy  disposition  was  unable  to 
carry  her  through,  she  always  took  refuge  in  the  book  of 
books,  the  Bible,  her  one  and  only  storehouse  of  wisdom. 
And  with  the  help  of  this  book  and  its  Divine  Author, 
whom  she  found  in  it,  and  in  whom  she  beHeved  with  the 
firmness  of  adamant,  she  endured  the  trials  which  Heaven 
in  its  wisdom  laid  upon  her. 

Thus  she  formed  a  valuable  counterpoise  to  her  husband, 
and  to  this  alone  it  is  due  that  his  noble  purposes  were  not 
defeated,  and  his  fine  quahties  not  obscured,  by  his  own 
weaknesses  and  blunders. 


II 

SCHOOL    AND    LIFE 

Goethe's  home — His  brother  Hermann  Jacob — His  sister  Cornelia — Life 
in  the  home — Early  education — The  Bible — Hebrew — Attitude 
toward  the  Church — Father's  collections — Influence  of  friends  of 
the  family — Boyish  vanity — Influences  outside  the  home — Earth- 
quake of  Lisbon — Seven  Years'  War — Count  Thoranc  quartered  in 
the  Goethe  house — French  theatre — Election  and  coronation  of  a 
German  Emperor — First  love — Gretchen — Sorrowful  end. 

WHEN  Councillor  Goethe  was  married,  on  the  20th 
of  August,  1748,  he  brought  his  young  wife 
from  her  home  in  the  Friedberger  Gasse  to  his 
mother's  house  in  the  street  called  Grosser  Hirschgraben. 
Crowded,  gloomy  Frankfort  was  here  lighter  and  more 
open.  The  house  stood  on  the  western  limit  of  the  territory 
built  over,  so  that  from  the  back  windows  of  the  upper 
stories  there  was  a  wide  outlook  across  a  number  of  gardens 
to  the  city  wall,  out  over  the  beautiful,  fruitful  valley  of 
the  Main  to  the  heights  of  the  Taunus  range  beyond. 
Little  Wolfgang  liked  to  lose  himself  in  this  view,  for  the 
varied  landscape,  approaching  storms,  and  the  glow  of  the 
setting  sun  nurtured  the  longings  and  anticipations  that 
filled  his  soul.  The  interior  of  the  house  was  originally  full 
of  dark  comers.  In  the  year  1754,  however,  after  the 
death  of  the  grandmother,  on  whose  account  Councillor 
Goethe  had  postponed  all  changes,  the  house  was  made 
light  and  roomy  by  a  thorough  remodelling.  Broad  stair- 
ways and  halls  were  put  in,  and  these  were  made  larger  to 
the  eye  by  the  views  of  Rome  which  the  father  hung  up  in 
them. 


Scbool  anb  Xife  15 

The  house  was  too  large  for  the  family,  for,  although  in 
the  period  from  1749  to  1760  six  children  were  bom,  four 
of  them  died  while  still  quite  young  and  the  family  remained 
small.  Wolfgang's  only  companion  among  them  beside 
his  sister,  Cornelia,  who  was  one  year  younger  than  him- 
self, was  a  brother,  Hermann  Jacob,  who  reached  the  age 
of  six  years.  At  his  death,  in  January,  1759,  Wolfgang,  to 
the  astonishment  of  his  mother,  did  not  shed  a  single  tear. 
When  she  asked  him  whether  he  had  not  loved  his  brother, 
he  did  not  answer,  but  ran  into  his  room,  pulled  out  from 
under  the  bed  a  bundle  of  papers  written  over  with  lessons 
and  stories,  showed  them  to  her,  and  said:  "  I  did  all  this  to 
teach  my  brother."  "  In  such  things  he  was  a  queer  child," 
remarked  his  mother  in  telling  the  little  incident  to  Bettina 
Brentano.^i 

His  love  for  his  sister  Cornelia  was  more  outspoken. 
The  closest  bonds  united  the  two  and  they  shared  the  joys 
and  sorrows  of  home  life  as  true  brother  and  sister.  Their 
days  were  well  occupied;  the  father  liked  to  see  the  inter- 
vals between  lessons — and  they  were  not  very  long — de- 
voted to  the  culture  of  silkworms,  or  the  bleaching  of 
etchings,*  or  some  other  task  equally  burdensome  to  the 
children.  Evening  itself  did  not  always  bring  them  the 
desired  liberty.  In  the  winter,  especially,  they  were  ac- 
customed to  reading  aloud  from  some  instructive  but 
usually  tedious  book,  such  as  Bower's  History  of  the  Popes, ^"^ 
and  the  father  was  often  the  first  to  begin  to  yawn.  But 
he  insisted  that  a  book  once  begun  be  read  to  the  end. 
Under  such  circumstances  it  was  like  a  gleam  of  sunshine 
when  the  children  could  steal  an  hour  from  this  forced 
study  and  listen  to  their  mother's  stories.  Wolfgang, 
especially,  followed  the  stories  with  intense  interest.  "  He 
fairly  devoured  me,"  says  his  mother,  "with  his  big  black 
eyes,*^  and  when  the  fate  of  some  favourite  character 
was  not  just  to  his  liking,  I  saw  the  veins  of  his  forehead 

*  The  spots  produced  by  light,  dust,  and  smoke,  as  well  as  fly-specks, 
were  removed  by  spreading  the  etchings  out  in  the  sun  and  keeping  them 
moist. — 0. 


i6  tlbe  Xlfc  of  (Boetbe 

swelling  with  anger,  while  he  tried  to  keep  back  the  tears. 
Often  he  would  interfere  before  I  had  finished  and  say: 
*  Mother,  the  princess  will  not  marry  that  cursed  tailor,  will 
she,  even  if  he  does  kill  the  giant?'  Now  if  I  stopped  and 
saved  up  the  catastrophe  for  the  next  evening,  I  might  be 
perfectly  sure  that  in  the  meantime  he  would  have  arranged 
everything,  and  thus  my  imagination,  when  it  failed  me, 
was  frequently  supplemented  by  his.  If,  then,  the  next 
evening,  I  carried  on  the  threads  of  fate  according  to  his 
suggestion  and  said,  '  You  guessed  it.  That  's  the  way  it 
came  out,'  then  he  was  all  aflame  and  one  could  see  his 
little  heart  beating  beneath  his  ruff  (Halskrause)." 

The  children  probably  received  all  their  early  education 
from  their  father,  who  used  the  popular  old  text-books,  such 
as  Comenius's  Orbis  Pictus,^^  Gottfried's  Chronicles, ^^  and 
the  like.  Later  he  employed  private  tutors,  avoiding  the 
public  schools  because  of  the  pedantry  and  obtuseness 
which  characterised  their  teachers.  The  boy  was,  however, 
not  wholly  deprived  of  the  companionship  of  a  larger  circle 
of  schoolmates,  so  important  in  the  development  of  char- 
acter, for  certain  of  the  private  lessons  were  attended  by 
as  many  as  twenty  children  drawn  from  the  families  of 
neighbours  and  friends.  If  we  examine  the  course  of  study 
drawn  up  by  the  father,  we  must  admit  that  it  would  not 
have  been  easy  to  prescribe  a  broader  and  more  liberal 
training.  Hardly  any  of  the  more  important  realms  of 
knowledge,  hardly  any  of  the  nobler  accomplishments,  were 
neglected.  The  most  important  ancient  and  modem 
languages, — viz.,  Latin,  Greek,  Hebrew,  French,  English, 
and  Italian, — history  and  geography,  religion,  natural 
sciences,  mathematics,  drawing,  music,  dancing,  fencing, 
and  riding  were  included  one  by  one  in  the  boy's  education. 
Facility  in  German,  nowhere  the  object  of  systematic 
study  in  those  days,  was  acquired  by  the  writing  of  com- 
positions— those  composed  according  to  rhetorical  rules 
affording  the  elder  Goethe  especial  pleasure — and  by  the 
reading  of  contemporary  poets.  The  boy  also  became 
familiar  with  the  German  folk-poetry  through  the  cheaply 


Scbool  anb  Xife  17 

printed  folk-books,  which  cost  only  a  few  pence  at  the 
bookstalls,  and  were  in  great  demand  among  the  children. 

Religious  instruction  seems  to  have  been  limited  in  his 
earlier  years  to  the  reading  of  the  Bible,  and  we  may  assume 
it  was  his  mother  who  guided  his  study  of  the  sacred  book. 
The  circumstance  that  he  grew  up  in  a  sincerely  religious 
family,  where  the  Bible  was  the  mother's  favourite  book, 
seems  to  the  more  profoimd  student  to  have  been  fore- 
ordained, like  everything  else  in  Goethe's  life,  for  the 
special  purpose  of  preparing  his  mind  for  the  highest  de- 
velopment. For  what  could  all  the  literature  that  fell  into 
the  boy's  hands  signify  when  compared  with  the  Bible,  to 
which,  he  himself  says,  he  owed  almost  all  his  moral  educa- 
tion, and  which  occupied  his  imagination  unceasingly  and 
turned  his  mind  to  every  field  of  thought.  The  Bible  ap- 
pealed to  him  under  the  most  widely  differing  forms,  and  as 
book  of  law,  as  epic,  as  idyll,  as  hymn,  or  as  love  song, 
awoke  in  him  a  response  to  every  chord.  With  his  peculiar 
enthusiasm  he  delved  into  the  unfathomable  book  and 
made  its  stories,  teachings,  symbols,  and  language  his  own 
forever.  He  was  especially  fond  of  losing  himself  in  the 
naivete  and  grandeur  of  the  Pentateuch.  Amid  those 
Oriental  scenes,  peopled  with  a  simple  shepherd  folk,  his 
restless,  roving  spirit  found  peace  and  happiness.  Thus 
the  boy  was  drawn  to  nature  and  simplicity  by  the  Bible, 
long  before  Rousseau  and  Winckelmann  had  influenced 
his  intellectual  life. 

Love  of  the  Old  Testament  was  his  motive  for  studying 
Hebrew :  his  teacher  was  Rector  Albrecht,  of  the  Gymna- 
sium, a  clever,  sarcastic  little  man.  The  more  careful 
reading  of  the  Old  Testament  in  the  original  language  con- 
firmed him  in  many  a  doubt  concerning  the  divine  author- 
ship of  the  Bible,  but  this  scepticism  detracted  in  no  wise  V 
from  his  love  of  its  epical  and  ethical  character.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  was  little  impressed  by  the  purely  dogmatic 
teachings  of  the  dry  old  formulas  which  he  had  to  learn  as  a 
preparation  for  confirmation.  In  fact,  the  result  was  aliena- 
tion from  the  Church  rather  than  attraction  to  it.     And  yet 


V 


VOL.  I. —  2. 


1 8  ^be  %xtc  of  (Boetbe 

his  meditative  soul  was  keenly  responsive  to  the  sublime 
symbolism  of  the  Church,  which  brought  him  into  conscious 
communion  with  God  and  the  universe.  If  we  had  no  other 
evidence,  we  should  know  this  from  the  following  verses  in 
Faust,  which  are  but  the  crystallisation  of  happy  memories 
of  his  youth : 

8onft  [tiirgte  fic^  bcr  §imtnclsliebc  ^ii^ 

Sliif  tiiicl)  ^erob,  in  ernfter  @abbnt()[tille ; 

^n  flang  [o  af)mingeiiolI  beg  ©lorfciitoiire  gnllc, 

Unb  cin  ©ebct  wax  briinftigcr  ®enii^  ; 

(5in  unbcgrciflid)  l)olbc6  (Sc()ncn 

Zvkb  mid),  biird)  SKalb  unb  SKicfcn  ^insugcbii, 

Unb  untcr  taufcnb  ()ci|cn  Srancn 

gnl)lt'  ic^  mir  cine  SSelt  entfte^n.* 

If  we  turn  aside  from  the  most  important  factors  in 
Goethe's  education  to  those  of  minor  significance,  we  must 
mention  his  father's  valuable  collections.  First  of  all,  the 
beautiful,  well-chosen  library,  in  which  were  to  be  found 
the  German  poets  of  the  eighteenth  century, — except  Klop- 
stock,  whose  unrhymed  verses  were  distasteful  to  the  elder 
Goethe, — the  best  Italian  and  Latin  poets,  Roman  antiqui- 
ties, the  classic  works  on  jurisprudence,  the  best  and  most 
recent  books  of  travel,  historical  and  philosophical  treatises, 
and  encyclopedias  of  all  kinds.  Furthermore,  the  father 
owned  an  excellent  collection  of  maps,  natural  history  speci- 
mens, especially  mineralogical,  Venetian  glass,  carved  ivory, 
bronzes,  and  old  weapons.  Beside  his  many  etchings,  he 
had  a  number  of  oil  paintings,  and  was  continually  on  the 
lookout  for  new  acquisitions  from  home  artists.     Whatever 

*  Once  Heavenly  Love  sent  down  a  burning  kiss 

Upon  my  brow,  in  Sabbath  silence  holy; 

And,  filled  with  mystic  presage,  chimed  the  church-bell  slowly, 

And  prayer  dissolved  me  in  a  fervent  bliss. 

A  sweet,  uncomprehended  yearning 

Drove  forth  my  feet  through  woods  and  meadows  free, 

And  while  a  thousand  tears  were  burning, 

I  felt  a  world  arise  for  ( =  in)  me. 

Taylor's  Translation. 


Scbool  anb  %\tc  19 

was  lacking  in  his  collections  was  supplemented  by  friends 
and  relatives,  who  in  every  way  took  a  most  vital  interest 
in  the  boy's  education. 

There  was  the  special  friend  of  the  Goethe  household, 
Councillor  Schneider,  who  smuggled  in  Klopstock's  Messias; 
there  was  Pastor  Stark,  an  uncle,  in  whose  library  Wolf- 
gang discovered  a  Homer  in  German  prose ;  there  was  easy- 
going Herr  von  Olenschlager,  who  explained  the  Golden 
Bull  to  the  boy  and  associated  him  with  children  of  other 
families  in  the  presentation  of  French  plays  and  in  the 
writing  of  prize  essays ;  there  was,  besides,  obstinate  Herr 
von  Reineck,  who  instructed  him  about  international  and 
domestic  relations;  Privy  Councillor  Hiisgen,  a  shrewd 
lawyer  with  a  Mephistophelian  vein,  capable  of  discovering 
defects  in  God  himself;  Legation  Councillor  Moritz,  who 
taught  him  mathematics;  and  other  men  who,  partly  by 
precept,  partly  by  example,  and  partly  by  association,  in- 
fluenced him  in  manifold  ways.  It  must  have  been  a 
peculiarly  charming  sight  to  see  little  Wolfgang,  with  his 
sparkling  black  eyes  and  his  shrewd,  pale  face,  looking  up 
to  the  venerable  perukes.  They  were  all  very  fond  of  him, 
not  merely  because  of  his  astonishing  quickness  of  appre- 
hension and  his  original  conception  of  things,  but  also  on 
account  of  the  goodness  and  purity  with  which  his  whole 
being  was  thoroughly  imbued.  To  these  men  of  mature 
years  and  more  or  less  morose  nature  he  was  as  refreshing 
as  the  morning  dew,  and  each  of  them  sought  to  realise  in 
him,  as  in  a  beloved  son,  his  own  ideal.  Olenschlager 
wished  to  make  him  a  courtier,  Reineck  a  diplomat,  Hiisgen 
a  jurist,  that  he  might  be  in  position  to  defend  himself  and 
his  property  against  the  worthless  race  of  men. 

What  wonder  if  the  precocious  grandson  of  the  chief 
magistrate  of  the  city  and  favourite  of  so  many  men  of  high 
position  should  become  exceedingly  self-conscious  and 
manifest  it  by  a  certain  strutting  demeanour?  His  vanity 
bore  him  a  rich  harvest  of  jeers  from  his  companions,  but 
they  always  showed  a  sense  of  their  own  inferiority  by  their 
attitude    toward    him.     "We    always   were    his    lackeys," 


V 


20  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

remarked  in  after  years  his  boyhood  friend,  Max  Moors,  who 
was  two  years  older  than  Goethe. 

Whatever  was  lacking  in  the  formal  education  of  the 
boy  was  supplied  by  a  thousand  other  influences  in  his  life. 
When  little  Wolfgang  was  sent  on  errands  to  craftsmen, 
he  would  watch  them  at  their  work  and  observe  their 
habits  of  life.  The  shepherds'  annual  festivals  at  the 
Grindbrunnen  and  on  the  Pfingstweide  brought  him  occa- 
sionally into  touch  with  the  rural  population.  The  great 
fairs  at  Easter  and  Michaelmas  filled  his  head  with  wild 
excitement.  Wares  of  most  various  kinds  and  national- 
ities, a  swarm  of  buyers  and  sellers  from  distant  lands,  and 
throngs  of  travellers  were  before  his  eyes  for  weeks  and 
weeks  and  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  form  some  con- 
ception of  the  commerce  of  the  world  and  of  the  peculiarities 
of  the  people  of  far-away  countries.  Beside  these  periodic 
enlargements  of  the  routine  life  of  the  city,  there  took  place 
in  his  youth  several  extraordinary  events  which  exerted  a 
profound  influence  upon  his  development.  As  the  first  he 
mentions  the  earthquake  of  Lisbon,  in  November,  1755, 
which  in  a  few  moments  destroyed  a  splendid,  rich,  com- 
mercial city  and,  according  to  currently  believed  but 
greatly  exaggerated  reports,  sixty  thousand  human  lives. 
This  terrible  calamity  was  a  violent  shock  to  his  faith,  and 
set  him  to  doubting  whether  God  really  is  as  wise  and  as 
gracious  as  the  first  article  of  the  creed  teaches. 

Not  long  after  that  catastrophe  the  Seven  Years'  War 
broke  out.  The  figure  of  Frederick  II.,  already  greatly 
magnified  by  the  two  Silesian  wars,  now  appeared  mightier 
than  ever,  and  presented  to  Wolfgang's  eyes  a  personality 
far  superior  to  all  contemporaries.  He  and  his  father 
yielded  readily  to  the  magic  of  this  personality  and  followed 
the  King's  successes  with  great  enthusiasm,  while  his  grand- 
father, with  certain  of  his  daughters  and  their  husbands, 
was  loyal  to  the  Emperor  and  sought  to  minimise  as  much 
as  possible  his  enemy's  merits  and  triumphs.  Thus  the 
family  was  separated  into  two  parties  and  the  old  cordiality 
was  painfully  disturbed.     After  a  few  unpleasant  scenes 


School  ant)  Xife  21 

the  father  utterly  avoided  the  grandfather's  house,  and 
Wolfgang  had  no  longer  any  relish  for  his  accustomed 
Sunday  dinner  with  his  grandparents.  A  further  result 
of  this  dissension  was  the  contempt  of  public  opinion  which 
began  to  show  itself  in  young  Goethe  when  he  heard  the 
most  brilliant  achievements  belittled,  not  by  the  rabble, 
but  by  men  of  rank  and  position.  Although  the  war  had 
in  the  beginning  affected  the  city  but  remotely,  through  its 
political  aspect  it  became  in  1759  a  cause  of  immediate 
discomfort.  The  French  army  of  seven  thousand  men, 
which  on  January  2nd  occupied  Frankfort,  remained  for 
several  years  quartered  upon  its  citizens,  a  source  of  both 
famine  and  disease.  The  Goethe  household  received  as 
inmate  the  royal  lieutenant  Count  Thoranc,*  *^  a  highly 
educated,  courteous  gentleman,  invested  with  the  office  of 
commandant  of  the  city.  Councillor  Goethe,  instead  of 
being  happy,  under  the  circumstances,  to  have  such  an 
eligible  guest  quartered  in  the  house,  was  extremely  vexed, 
Prussian  sympathiser  as  he  was,  by  the  necessity  oi  lodging 
an  enemy,  and  that,  too,  in  his  handsomest  apartment. 
All  attempts  on  the  part  of  the  Count,  the  family,  and 
friends  to  reconcile  him  to  the  new  condition  of  things  were 
fruitless.  He  became  only  the  more  confirmed  in  his  ill- 
humour,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  battle  of  Bergen,  near 
Frankfort,  which  resulted  in  a  victory  for  the  French,  he 
insulted  the  Count  so  grievously  that  only  the  efficient 
intervention  of  his  friend  and  godfather  Dolmetsch  saved 
him  and  the  family  from  severe  trials. 

These  new  conditions,  which  weighed  so  heavily  upon 
the  father,  were  to  the  children  a  source  of  great  pleasure 
and  profit.  Strict  discipline  and  regularity  of  lessons  were 
relaxed,  and  a  gay,  active  life  took  the  place  of  their  cus- 
tomary monotonous  existence.  In  the  Count's  quarters 
there  was  always  something  good  to  eat,  something  inter- 
esting to  listen  to,  or  something  beautiful  to  look  at.  Soon 
after  his  arrival  the  Count,  who  was  an  ardent  lover  of  art, 
gathered  about  him  Seekatz  of  Darmstadt  and  the  principal 

*  Thorane,  Goethe's  spelling  of  the  Count's  name,  is  incorrect. 


22  Zbc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

artists  of  Frankfort  to  paint  for  him  large  pictures  for  the 
adornment  of  his  own  and  his  brother's  residence  in  Grasse. 
A  studio  was  arranged  in  the  house,  and  Wolfgang,  who  had 
watched  these  artists  before  when  at  work  for  his  father,  was 
now  in  a  position  to  observe  their  productions  in  all  stages, 
and  thus  enlarge  his  knowledge  of  the  technique  and  art  of 
painting.  Still  greater  charm  and  benefit  was  derived 
from  the  French  theatre  which  came  to  the  city  with  the 
troops.  A  complimentary  ticket  received  from  his  grand- 
father opened  to  him  the  portals  of  this  temple  of  art. 
Here,  thanks  to  the  interest  of  his  mother,  he  became  a 
regular  attendant,  in  spite  of  the  objections  of  his  father, 
who  held  a  very  low  opinion  of  the  value  of  the  theatre. 
In  this  way  he  became  acquainted  with  the  highly  developed 
drama  of  the  French  through  certain  tragedies  and  a  great 
number  of  comedies  and  operettas.  The  gracefulness  of  the 
latter  made  a  special  impression  upon  him  and  was  probably 
one  of  the  causes  of  his  many  later  attempts  in  this  field. 
Interest  in  the  French  theatre  led  him  to  study  their 
classic  dramatists,  and  he  read  all  of  Racine  and  Moliere  and 
most  of  Comeille.  At  the  theatre  he  made  the  acquaintance 
of  a  handsome,  sprightly  lad  by  the  name  of  Derones,^'' 
belonging  to  the  troupe,  who  allowed  him  to  go  behind 
the  scenes  and  get  a  glimpse  of  the  licence  of  stage  life. 
Though  these  sights  were  little  suited  to  his  youthful  eyes, 
still  they  later  furnished  the  author  of  Wilhelm  Meister  many 
a  fine  bit  of  material.  Wolfgang  took  quite  a  fancy  to  De- 
rones 's  elder  sister,  which  found  expression  in  all  sorts  of  at- 
tentions and  civilities.  To  his  sorrow  he  soon  noticed, 
however,  that  his  tender  wooings  were  unheeded.  Still  an- 
other disappointment  came  to  him  from  his  pleasant  relations 
to  the  theatre.  Some  half-mythological,  half-allegorical  dra- 
mas inspired  him  to  imitation,  and  in  a  short  time  he 
wrote  a  little  play  and  submitted  it  to  his  friend  Derones, 
secretly  hoping  it  might  perhaps  be  staged.  His  friend 
assured  him,  with  patronising  mien,  that  it  was  not  im- 
possible, but  a  few  trifling  changes  would  have  to  be  made. 
These  alterations  turned  out  to  be  so  ruthless  that  the 


Scbool  an^  Xifc  23 

author's  idol  was  destroyed  beyond  all  hope  of  restoration. 
Even  though  his  proud  hopes  of  success  in  dramatic  com- 
position were  now  shipwrecked,  still  this  Icarian  flight 
resulted  in  good,  in  that  it  occasioned  a  thorough  study  of 
the  theory  of  the  drama,  of  which  Derones  had  prated  to  him 
at  great  length,  and  a  neat  copy  of  the  original  outline  of 
his  play  made  his  father  somewhat  more  tolerant  of  his 
theatre-going.  Furthermore,  his  surprisingly  rapid  progress 
in  French  appealed  to  the  elder  Goethe  as  a  definite  gain 
and  completely  reconciled  him. 

Two  years  and  a  half  had  passed  since  the  occupation 
of  Frankfort  by  the  French  before  the  councillor  finally 
succeeded — to  the  sorrow  of  his  children — in  effecting  the 
royal  lieutenant's  removal  to  another  house.  In  order  to 
forestall  any  further  quartering  in  his  house,  he  rented 
temporary  lodgings  to  Moritz,  director  of  the  chancery,  and 
a  brother  of  the  legation  councillor.  This  increase  in  the 
number  of  people  in  the  house  made  very  little  change 
in  the  quiet  of  the  family,  as  the  Moritzes,  though  close 
friends  of  the  Goethes,  kept  to  themselves. 

The  storm  of  war,  which  had  in  so  many  ways  exerted 
a  fruitful  influence  upon  young  Goethe,  had  scarcely  blown 
over,  when  another  great  event — this  time  of  a  pleasing 
nature — brought  new  life  into  the  old  imperial  city.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  year  1764  Archduke  Joseph  was  to  be 
elected  and  crowned  King  of  Rome.  The  thorough-going 
councillor  was  of  the  opinion  that  for  such  an  event  one 
should  prepare  beforehand,  and  not  merely  look  on  in 
gaping  wonderment.  Consequently,  the  records  and  coven- 
ants of  the  last  election  and  coronation  were  brought  out, 
and  studying  and  copying  were  prolonged  far  into  the 
night.  The  Goethe  house  became  more  lively.  New 
guests  arrived:  on  the  first  floor,  a  Palatinate  cavalier;  on 
the  second.  Baron  von  Konigsthal,  Wurtembergian  Charge 
d' Affaires.  For  the  city  was  gradually  filling  up  with  such 
a  multitude  of  visitors,  dignitaries  of  all  grades,  soldiers 
and  servants,  actors,  jugglers,  and  curious  spectators,  that 
the  hotels  were  far  from  being  able  to  accommodate  them. 


24  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbc 

The  ecclesiastical  electors  and  many  of  the  petty  German 
princes  and  princesses  appeared  in  person,  the  more  im- 
portant lay  electors  were  represented  by  ambassadors,  of 
whom  Baron  von  Plotho,  from  the  Electorate  of  Branden- 
burg, was  everywhere  greeted  with  whispered  joy  on  ac- 
count of  the  importance  of  his  ruler  and  his  own  striking 
individuality.  Furthermore,  the  papal  nuncio  had  arrived, 
and  the  ambassadors  of  France,  Spain,  Portugal,  and 
Holland,  and  the  highest  officials  of  Austria,  among  them 
the  famous  imperial  minister,  Count  Kaunitz.  Finally,  on 
the  29th  of  March,  Emperor  Franz  also  arrived  with  his 
two  oldest  sons.  Then  followed  a  fortnight  of  coronation 
festivities,  which,  no  matter  whether  they  occurred  in 
public  or  within  closed  halls,  Wolfgang,  as  grandson  of  the 
chief  magistrate  of  the  city,  was  permitted  to  observe  from 
special  points  of  vantage.  He  was  himself  introduced  to 
many  a  high  and  noble  lord,  was  entrusted  with  many  a 
commission,  and  heard  enough  of  the  negotiations  of  the 
electors  among  themselves  and  with  the  city,  to  give  him 
an  idea  of  the  strange  structure  of  the  German  Empire  and 
its  conflicting  forces. 

The  excitement  of  the  coronation  also  offered  young 
Goethe  the  coveted  screen  for  a  love  affair,  which  had 
stirred  his  feelings  to  a  passionate  ardour.  When  the  man 
of  sixty  described  in  detail  this  boyish  experience,  it  was 
not  to  furnish  his  readers  with  a  few  pages  of  pleasing 
entertainment,  but  because  he  was  conscious  of  the  turn 
which  it  gave  to  his  development.  Here  for  the  first  time 
he  tasted  of  the  extremes  of  joy  and  pain,  and  felt  the 
unfeeling  intrusion  of  harsh  reality  upon  his  fate  and  that 
of  his  friends.  These  experiences  quickly  matured  the 
boy  into  young  manhood,  and  slowly  prepared  the  poet  for 
his  Gretchen  tragedy.  It  may  have  been  late  in  the  summer 
of  1763,  when  Wolfgang  was  about  fourteen  years  old,  that 
a  friend,  whom  he  shields  under  the  name  of  Pylades,  in- 
troduced him  to  other  young  men  of  humble  rank,  who 
sought  to  use  his  poetic  talent  in  a  jest.  They  asked  him 
to  compose  a  love  letter  in  verse,  in  which  a  bashful  young 


Scbool  ant)  Xlfe  25 

girl  discovers  her  love  to  a  youth.  Wolfgang  consented  at 
once,  and  his  new  acquaintances  dispatched  the  rhymed 
love  letter  in  a  disguised  hand  to  a  foolish  young  man,  who 
was  now  thoroughly  convinced  that  a  girl  whom  he  had 
been  timidly  courting  was  madly  in  love  with  him.  As  the 
happy  lover  wished  nothing  more  ardently  than  to  be  able 
to  answer  in  verse,  Goethe's  services  were  again  appealed 
to.  The  happy  youth  showed  his  gratitude  by  giving  an 
evening  party  at  the  home  of  his  mediators,  and  there 
Goethe  was  astonished  to  meet  a  wonderfully  pretty  girl,  a 
cousin  of  Pylades's  acquaintances.  He  could  not  rid  his 
mind  of  her  image,  and  as  he  had  no  immediate  occasion  to 
return  to  her  cousins'  house  he  sought  her  in  the  church 
that  he  might  have  his  fill  of  gazing  on  her  during  the  long 
service.  The  farcical  love  affair  soon  brought  Goethe  again 
to  the  cousins'  and  to  beautiful  Gretchen.  He  was  to  com- 
pose a  poetical  answer  to  the  lover's  letter,  and  gladly 
undertook  the  commission,  thinking  only  of  Gretchen  and 
drawing  his  inspiration  from  her,  dreaming  that  she  might 
some  day  send  such  a  letter  to  him.  When,  in  the  absence 
of  the  cousins,  he  showed  Gretchen  his  lyrical  effusions,  she 
begged  him  not  to  allow  himself  to  be  used  as  a  tool  in  such 
a  matter,  which  would  lead  to  no  good,  but  rather  to  put 
the  poem  in  his  pocket  and  go  home.  To  be  sure,  it  was  a 
pity,  she  added,  that  such  a  fine  poem  could  not  serve  some 
genuine  purpose.  Goethe  eagerly  took  her  at  her  word  and 
asked  her  in  a  loving  tone  if  she  would  like  to  sign  the 
letter.  When  after  some  hesitation  she  did  it,  the  young 
man  was  beside  himself  with  joy,  sprang  up,  and  was  about 
to  embrace  her.  But  she  started  back  and  begged  him  to 
take  his  poem  and  leave. 

The  more  Goethe  became  intoxicated  with  Gretchen 's 
apparent  confession  of  her  love,  the  more  painful  was  the 
separation  from  the  object  of  his  adoration  which  followed 
his  withdrawal  from  her  cousins'  stupid  trick.  But  in  a 
short  time  they  approached  him  again,  thinking  to  make 
use  of  his  talent  for  another  purpose.  They  brought  him 
an  order  for  a  dirge  and  a  wedding  song,  the  honorarium 


26  z\)c  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

to  be  expended  on  a  banquet  at  their  home.  Goethe, 
allured  by  the  double  charm  of  seeing  himself  in  print 
and  meeting  Gretchen,  engaged  to  write  the  poems.  The 
young  people  began  to  meet  almost  every  day,  but  Goethe 
concealed  the  fact  from  his  family.  With  the  frequency  of 
the  visits  grew  his  need  of  being  with  Gretchen, — in  fact,  it 
soon  seemed  to  him  a  necessary  condition  of  his  existence. 

Meanwhile  the  coronation  was  drawing  near,  and 
Goethe  became  Gretchen 's  tutor  in  all  the  details  of  the 
great  state  function.  The  evening  companies  became  more 
and  more  prolonged  and  more  and  more  animated,  and  on 
one  occasion,  shortly  before  coronation  day,  the  party, 
excited  by  the  festivities,  and  augmented  in  numbers  by 
some  new  arrivals  from  abroad,  did  not  disperse  till  morn- 
ing. Wolfgang  had  to  steal  home  by  a  roundabout  way, 
for  on  the  direct  road  his  father  might  have  seen  him 
through  a  little  peep  window  (that  may  still  be  seen), 
overlooking  the  street  called  Kleiner  Hirschgraben.  At 
last  came  coronation  day.  Goethe  was  up  bright  and  early 
in  order  to  see  all  the  important  transactions  as  plainly  and 
fully  as  possible.  For  the  elaborate  festal  illumination  in 
the  evening  he  had  an  appointment  with  his  friends  and 
with  Gretchen.  To  avoid  being  recognised  he  had  put  on  a 
disguise,  and  he  now  walked  about,  his  sweetheart  on  his 
arm,  through  the  crowds  of  people,  from  one  quarter  of  the 
city  to  another,  as  happy  as  if  he  were  wandering  over  the 
fields  of  Elysium.  When  they  grew  tired  and  hungry 
the  young  people  went  into  a  restaurant  and  made  merry 
until  a  very  late  hour.  Goethe  escorted  Gretchen  home,  and 
on  parting  she  kissed  him  on  the  brow.  It  was  the  first  and 
last  time  that  she  showed  him  such  a  favour.  For  mean- 
while, from  a  wholly  unexpected  source,  a  heavy  storm- 
cloud  had  collected  over  the  heads  of  the  little  company. 

On  an  excursion  to  Hochst  in  company  with  Pylades 
and  Gretchen's  cousins,  Goethe  had  met  a  young  man  whom 
the  cousins  wished  him  to  recommend  to  his  grandfather 
for  an  office  in  the  city  government.  He  granted  the 
request  and  the    young  man  was  appointed.     From  that 


Goethe,  /Etat    15 

(From  Got'thc  Brief e,  by  jiermission  of  Eisner,  Berlin) 


I 


Scbool  anb  Xlfc  27 

day  Goethe  had  heard  nothing  more  of  him,  until  the 
morning  after  coronation  brought  him  a  terrible  reminder 
of  his  protege. 

He  was  still  in  bed  when  his  mother  came  into  the  room 
with  troubled  countenance  and  bade  him  get  up,  saying  it 
had  come  out  that  he  had  been  in  bad  company,  and  was 
implicated  in  a  most  discreditable  affair.  Councillor  Schnei- 
der, commissioned  by  his  father  and  the  Government,  was 
coming  to  investigate  the  case.  Councillor  Schneider,  his 
'' Messias  friend,"  soon  appeared  and  informed  Wolfgang 
that  several  persons,  among  them  the  ofificer  he  had  recom- 
mended to  his  grandfather,  had  counterfeited  manuscripts, 
tampered  with  wills,  and  forged  notes,  and  that  he  was 
accused  of  having  abetted  them  in  their  crimes  by  means 
of  letters  and  papers.  Wolfgang  denied  having  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  matter  and  refused  to  make  any 
further  statements.  But  when  the  family  friend  urged 
him  not  to  make  things  worse  by  denials  and  stubborn 
silence,  and  mentioned  the  house  where  Goethe  had  met 
Pylades  and  Gretchen's  cousins,  assuring  him  that  the  ac- 
complices in  that  house  would  soon  be  arrested,  he  con- 
sidered it  wiser  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  incident 
and  show  his  innocence  and  that  of  his  friends,  especially 
Gretchen.  In  great  agony  he  unveiled  the  sweet  secret  of 
his  love  and  all  the  innocent  joys  which  had  sprung  from 
it,  and  ended  by  declaring — and  here  we  see  the  revelation 
of  another  great  phase  of  his  character — that  if  the  least 
injustice  were  done  to  his  companions  he  would  do  himself 
some  harm.  The  kind  family  friend  sought  to  pacify  him 
on  this  point,  but  Goethe,  not  trusting  him,  saw,  in  his 
excited  imagination,  Pylades,  the  cousins,  and  Gretchen 
ruined  by  his  frank  confessions ;  and  his  grief  was  so  aggra- 
vated by  these  distressing  thoughts  that  he  finally  threw 
himself  in  loud  lamentation  upon  the  floor  and  wept  bitterly. 
His  terrified  sister  found  him  in  this  state  when  she  brought 
him  the  comforting  news  that  Councillor  Schneider  had  ex- 
pressed a  favourable  opinion  in  the  case  to  another  member 
of  the  magistracy.     Wolfgang  could  apply  this  consolation 


28  Zhc  %\tc  of  6oetbe 

only  to  himself  and  continued  gloomily  apprehensive  as  to 
his  companions.  He  lost  all  interest  in  the  public  festivities 
and  lent  a  deaf  ear  to  his  father's  entreaties  to  go  out  and 
see  them.  He  continually  brooded  over  his  misery,  magni- 
fied a  thousand-fold  by  solitude,  until  assured  of  the  fate  of 
the  others.  Thus  he  passed  a  nimiber  of  days  and  nights 
in  weeping  and  raving,  until  for  tears  and  sobs  he  was 
scarcely  able  to  swallow,  and  even  his  breathing  seemed 
affected.  Finally  he  was  told  that  his  friends,  being 
found  virtually  innocent,  had  been  discharged  with  a  mild 
reproof,  and  that  Gretchen  had  returned  home.  His  sat- 
isfaction with  the  one  result  was  counterbalanced  by  new 
grief  over  the  other. 

Then  came  healing  balm  from  another  source.  A  tutor, 
whom  his  parents  had  secured  to  care  for  and  console  him, 
told  him,  when  questioned  about  the  details  of  the  trial, 
that  Gretchen 's  innocence  had  won  a  glorious  triumph 
before  the  judges,  and  that,  when  her  associations  with 
Goethe  were  alluded  to,  she  had  declared  that  she  had 
always  considered  him  a  mere  child,  and  that  instead  of 
urging  him  on  to  questionable  actions  and  mischievous 
pranks  she  had  dissuaded  him  from  them.  This  medicine 
was  effective.  He  was  mortally  offended  by  Gretchen's 
statement,  and  considered  it  inexcusable  that  he  should 
have  sacrificed  sleep,  peace  of  mind,  and  health  for  the  sake 
of  a  girl  who  considered  him  a  child.  However,  the  wound 
was  slow  in  healing,  and  only  when  enticed  by  summer  into 
the  deep  stillness  of  the  woods  did  the  soul  of  youthful 
Werther  find  melancholy  peace. 


Ill 

EARLIEST    PRODUCTIONS 

Study  of  law,  philosophy,  religion,  and  poetry — Accomplishments  and 
experience  at  seventeen — His  father  wishes  him  to  become  a 
jurist — He  desires  to  be  a  poet — German-Latin  colloquies  com- 
posed at  the  age  of  eight — Mdrchen  vom  neuen  Paris — The  Arca- 
dian Society — Letters  to  Buri — Early  poems — Great  fertility — 
Variety  of  compositions — The  puppet  play — Passion  for  dramatis- 
ing— Determines  against  the  law — Plan  to  be  a  university  professor 
— Departure  for  Leipsic. 

WOLFGANG'S  scientific  education  had  meanwhile 
assumed  a  more  serious  and  more  profound 
character.  Elementary  instruction  was  early- 
followed  by  the  study  of  law,  which,  in  order  to  please  his 
father,  he  pursued  with  such  zeal  that  he  soon  knew  Hoppe's 
little  textbook  of  the  Institutes  by  heart,  forward  and  back- 
ward, and,  as  he  says,  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the 
Corpus  Juris.  He  had  also  taken  up  the  study  of  philo- 
sophy. Among  the  Greeks  he  cared  little  for  Aristotle 
and  Plato,  1*  but  was  attracted  by  the  Stoics,  especially 
Epictetus,  who  had  taught  so  clearly  how  man  might  pre- 
serve his  soul  in  peace  in  the  midst  of  earthly  ills.  Of  more 
recent  philosophy  he  seems  to  have  picked  up  a  smattering 
here  and  there.  On  the  whole,  it  was  impossible  for  any 
systematic  and  dogmatic  philosophy  to  make  any  special 
impression  on  him  at  that  time.  He  liked  best  such  works 
as  united  poetry,  religion,  and  philosophy,  as  the  Book  of 
Job,  Solomon's  Song,  Proverbs,  and  the  Orphic  and  Hesiodic 
poems.  Indeed,  he  argued  with  his  tutor,  who  was  to  give 
him  an  introduction  to  philosophy,  that  there  was  no  need 

29 


30  Jibe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

of  a  separate  study  of  philosophy,  as  the  ground  was  com- 
pletely covered  by  religion  and  poetry. 

He  perfected  himself  further  in  Latin,  both  on  account 
of  the  classic  works  of  Roman  literature  and  because  most 
of  the  scientific  and  not  a  few  of  the  poetical  works  of  the 
civilised  nations  of  Europe  were  written  in  that  language. 
He  mastered  Latin  with  great  ease,  though  without  any 
real  knowledge  of  the  grammar,  but  his  acquaintance  with 
Greek  remained  superficial.  To  supply  the  shortcomings 
in  his  different  studies  he  had  recourse  to  the  encyclopedic 
works  of  Bayle,i9  Morhof.^o  and  Gesner.21 

In  this  manner  Goethe  had  acquired  at  the  age  of 
seventeen  a  very  broad  and  liberal  education.  He  had 
become  familiar  with  the  poetry  of  the  leading  civilised 
nations,  partly  in  the  original  languages,  partly  in  transla- 
tions. If  the  Greeks,  the  English,  and  the  Italians  had 
been  left  somewhat  in  the  background,  his  reading  of  the 
German,  French,  Latin,  and  Hebrew  literatures  was  all  the 
more  extensive.  Hand  in  hand  with  this  went  a  knowledge 
of  the  language  and  the  history  of  each  of  these  peoples ;  in 
the  political  and  legal  history  of  Germany  his  knowledge  ex- 
tended to  minute  details.  For  his  years  he  had  made  un- 
usual progress  in  theology  and  jurisprudence.  He  had 
made  himself  pretty  much  at  home  in  the  natural  sciences, 
less  by  systematic  instruction  than  by  observation  and  ex- 
periment. Of  the  arts  he  had  studied  especially  music  and 
drawing.  He  played  the  piano,  the  flute,  later,  also,  the 
cello,  and  he  drew  so  beautifully  that  Master  Seekatz  often 
said  to  his  father  it  was  a  pity  that  Wolfgang  was  not 
destined  to  be  an  artist. 

But  the  young  man  had  also  gathered  a  rich  store  of 
experience,  not  only  from  scenes  of  war  and  state  which 
chance  had  brought  to  his  door,  and  not  merely  from  his 
bitter  love  troubles,  but  also  from  the  extraordinary  con- 
fidence which  in  spite  of  his  youth  he  inspired  in  all  his 
intimate  acquaintances.  He  had  been  given  an  insight 
into  the  privacy  of  families,  often  a  painful  experience  to 
him,  and  yet  of  the  greatest  importance  for  the  deepening 


lear licet  probuctione  31 

of  his  intellectual  life.  All  these  things  contributed  to  an 
early  maturity,  and  it  is  easy  to  see  why  his  father,  who 
looked  upon  his  development  as  tropical  and  whose  am- 
bitions for  him  were  so  high,  could  hardly  await  the  time 
for  sending  him  to  the  university.  He  had  destined  him  to 
the  study  of  law.  The  young  man  was  to  learn  as  much 
as  possible  from  theory  and  practice  in  Leipsic,  Wetzlar, 
Ratisbon,  and  Vienna,  so  that  the  whole  career  of  a  jurist 
and  statesman  might  be  opened  to  him. 

Young  Goethe  listened  in  silence  as  these  life  plans  were 
unrolled  before  him.  He  was  dreaming  of  other  ideals. 
Whenever  he  tried  to  think  of  something  which  he  would 
like  to  have,  and  which  would  bring  him  happiness  in  life, 
the  fancy-picture  that  possessed  the  greatest  charm  for  him 
was  the  wreath  of  laurel  woven  to  decorate  the  poet. 

This  picture  was  but  the  reflection  of  the  poetic  talent 
which  expressed  itself  with  elemental  force  early  in  his 
boyhood.  Among  his  first  productions  22  we  may  reckon 
the  three  German- Latin  colloquies  which  he  composed  when 
eight  years  old,  and  which  kind  fortune  has  preserved  in  an 
exercise  book.^^  We  are  astonished  to  see  in  them  such 
invention  in  the  development  of  the  subject,  such  lively 
humour  in  the  dialogue,  such  skill  in  delineating  the  in- 
dividuality of  the  speakers,  and  such  quickness  and  keen- 
ness at  repartee.  The  first  colloquy  treats  of  a  father  and 
son  going  to  the  cellar.  The  son  desires  to  be  taken  along, 
as  he  wishes  to  see  his  father  filling  up  the  wine  casks. 
"Slyboots,"  says  the  father,  "there  is  something  at  the 
bottom  of  this." — "I  cannot  deny  that  I  have  a  desire  to 
see  again  the  cornerstone  of  our  house." — "Follow  me." 
Now  they  go  down  the  stairs ;  the  son  wonders  at  the  great 
darkness;  the  grave  can  be  no  darker.  It  soon  becomes 
lighter.  He  sees  the  kettles,  pots,  casks,  and  other  things 
lying  about,  and  then  finally  the  cornerstone.  He  remem- 
bers how  he  had  laid  it  a  few  years  before,  surrounded  by 
the  masons ;  how  the  overseer  was  going  to  make  a  speech, 
but  his  memory  failed  him  in  the  middle  of  it  and  he  tore 
his  hair  with  rage,  while  the  crowd  of  spectators  shook  with 


32  ZTbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

laughter.  The  father  in  turn  recalls  the  difficulties  and 
dangers  incident  to  the  remodelling  of  the  house  and  pro- 
ceeds to  the  filling  of  the  casks.  To  the  son's  question,  why 
this  is  necessary,  the  father  replies  that  the  wine  is  con- 
stantly evaporating  and  has  to  be  replaced  by  other  wine 
to  keep  it  from  spoiling.  "  In  that  case,"  says  the  son,  "it 
would  be  better  to  anticipate  by  drinking  it  up."  After 
this  suggestion  has  been  met,  the  curious  son  asks  about 
the  different  sorts  of  wine  and  whether  any  of  the  old  wines 
are  called  theological.  The  father  laughs,  saying  that  the 
clergy  seldom  drink  old  wine.  "That  is  true,"  repHes  the 
son,  adding  pertly  that  the  theologians,  on  the  other  hand, 
say  that  the  jurists  are  the  lovers  of  old  wines.  At  this 
point  the  jurist  father  breaks  off  the  conversation  abruptly, 
ordering  the  son  back  to  his  work.  But  that  he  may  not 
depart  from  the  cellar  unrewarded  his  father  gives  him  a 
piece  of  wood,  purporting  to  be  a  remnant  of  the  mast  of 
Columbus's  ship.  The  son  takes  up  the  joke  and  replies 
with  a  laugh  that  he  will  keep  the  wood  with  his  other 
antiquities  until  some  Damasippus  (foolish  dealer  in  an- 
tiquities in  Horace)  comes  to  buy  them.  With  this  neat 
turn  the  conversation  comes  to  a  close. 

The  second  colloquy  is  a  conversation  between  two 
schoolmates,  Wolfgang  and  Maximilian,  before  the  opening 
of  school.  Wolfgang  gives  an  excellent  portrait  of  himself 
as  a  well-bred  boy,  eager  to  learn,  who  assumes  toward  his 
unruly  comrade  the  mien  of  a  wise  mentor.  The  best  of 
the  colloquies  is  the  third : 

"  Father. — What  are  you  doing  there,  my  son? 

"Son. — Making  wax  figures. 

''Father. — I  thought  so.  Oh,  when  will  you  ever  put 
nuts  *  aside? 

"Son. — Why,  I  'm  not  playing  with  nuts,  I  'm  playing 
with  wax. 

"  Father. — Ignoramus,  can  it  be  that  you  don't  know  the 
meaning  of  'nuts'  in  this  connection? 

*  The  little  rogue  here  indulges  in  a  pun  on  the    Latin  word  nuces, 
which  can  mean  both  "nuts"  and  "childish  play." 


learlleet  probuctiona  33 

"Son. — Now  I  remember.  But  see  how  well  I  have 
learned  in  a  short  time  to  model  in  wax. 

"Father. — To  spoil  wax,  you  mean, 

"Son. — I  beg  your  pardon.  Am  I  not  creating  rather 
clever  things? 

"Father. — Yes,  indeed.  Show  me  some  of  your  mal- 
formations. 

"  Son. — Among  other  animals  I  have  made,  with  special 
success,  a  cat  with  a  long  moustache,  and  a  city  mouse  and 
a  field  mouse  to  illustrate  one  of  Horace's  satires,  translated 
by  Drollinger  into  pure  German  doggerel. 

"Father. — I  like  this  reminiscence  better  than  the 
beasts  themselves.  But  have  you  made  nothing  else  which 
shows  your  alleged  art  more  advantageously? 

"Son. — Yes,  indeed;  here  is  a  whale,  with  mouth  wide 
open,  as  if  to  swallow  us,  and  two  chamois,  which  Emperor 
Maximilian  was  so  fond  of  hunting  that  he  is  said  to  have 
been  unable  to  find  his  way  out  of  the  declivitous  rocks  till 
an  angel  in  human  form  showed  him  the  path. 

"Father. — Why,  you  apply  your  scraps  of  history  so 
aptly  that  one  must  pardon  your  misshapen  figures.  And 
is  that  all? 

"Son. — By  no  means;  for  of  all  my  models  the  ones  to 
be  especially  admired  are:  the  crocodile  shedding  false 
tears,  the  monstrous  war  elephant  of  the  ancients,  the 
lizard,  friend  of  man,  the  croaking  frog  announcing  spring, 
all  of  which  lack  nothing  but  life. 

"Father. — Nonsense!  Who  would  be  able  to  recognise 
them  without  the  labels? 

"Son. — Alas!  Is  not  every  man  the  best  interpreter  of 
his  own  works? 

"Father.  —  This  statement  is  qmte  true,  but  not 
apropos. 

"  Son. — Pardon  my  ignorance  and  deign  to  look  at  this 
sleighing  party.  There  are  just  a  dozen  in  it,  all  different, 
partly  creeping  and  partly  flying  creatures,  of  which  the 
swan,  the  stag,  the  walrus,  and  the  dragon  seem  to  be  the 
most  natural. 

VOL.  I. —  3 


34  ITbe  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

''Father. — You  may  think  so,  if  you  like,  but  it  is  per- 
fectly apparent  that  you  make  no  real  distinction  between 
beautiful  and  ugly. 

"Son. — Dear  father,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  teach  me 
the  difference? 

"Father. — Certainly,  but  everything  in  season.  Your 
power  of  observation  must  first  be  more  mature. 

"Son. — Oh  fiddlesticks!  Why  will  you  postpone  it? 
Tell  me  about  it  to-day  rather  than  to-morrow  and  I  will 
listen  to  you  while  I  play. 

"Father. — I  have  already  said  it  cannot  be  done  now, 
— some  other  time.  Put  aside  your  childish  nonsense  now 
and  go  to  your  work. 

"Son. — I  will.     Good-bye." 

Beside  the  general  merits  which  this  colloquy  has  in 
common  with  the  others,  it  is  a  matter  of  no  slight  interest 
that  the  seven-year-old  boy  inquires  about  the  distinction 
between  the  ugly  and  the  beautiful,  ideas  which  the  young 
are  wont  to  consider  firmly  established  and  easy  of  appre- 
hension. And  further,  that  he  embarrasses  his  father,  who 
is  apparently  about  to  give  the  purely  superficial  definition 
of  "  harmony  of  proportions,"  by  insisting  on  an  immediate 
explanation,  until  the  father,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do, 
bids  him  have  done  with  his  nonsense.  Wolfgang's  comical 
imitation  of  the  manners  of  a  menagerie  keeper  in  referring 
to  his  animals  also  deserves  notice. 

Both  the  conduct  of  the  conversations,  in  which  the 
father  is  frequently  worsted,  and  the  literary  peculiarities 
of  the  pieces  preclude  the  idea  that  the  elder  Goethe  dictated 
them  to  his  son.  For  one  is  perfectly  safe  in  saying  that  the 
father,  even  if  he  had  been  inclined  to  take  the  inferior  posi- 
tion ascribed  to  him,  never  was  capable  of  such  poetic  and 
dramatic  compositions.  The  only  thing  which  might  de- 
tract from  our  admiration  of  the  boy's  invention,  but  which 
at  the  same  time  would  increase  our  wonder  at  his  talents 
in  general,  would  be  the  possibility  that  the  conversations 
were  reproductions  of  real  ones.     But  even  such  a  suppo- 


learUeet  probuctione  35 

sition  is  only  to  a  limited  degree  possible.     At  least  the 
real  conversations  must  have  been  of  greater  length. 

After  these  colloquies  we  can  place  the  Mdrchen  vom 
neuen  Paris,  which  impresses  us  with  its  clever  and  rich 
invention.  The  form  must  be  attributed  to  the  poet's  later 
art,  as  he  never  wrote  it  down  till  1811.  But  his  very- 
definite  statement  forbids  us  to  deny  that  the  contents 
belong  to  his  boyhood.  Then  comes  a  period  of  several 
years  before  we  meet  with  any  further  intellectual  docu- 
ments of  Goethe's  youth,  which  may  be  called  in  the 
broader  sense  literary.  These  are  two  letters  of  the  fourteen- 
year-old  boy,  written  in  May  and  June,  1764,  to  the  seven- 
teen-year-old Ludwig  Ysenburg  von  Buri  in  Neuhof.  The 
letters  are  the  more  deserving  of  consideration  because  they 
acquaint  us  with  a  little  episode  in  Goethe's  Hfe  imme- 
diately after  the  Gretchen  catastrophe,  and  passed  over  in 
silence  in  his  autobiography.  Buri  had  organised  a  "  virtue 
league,"  called  the  "Arcadian  Society,"  and  Goethe  wished 
to  join  it.  The  society  received  new  members  cautiously, 
and  only  after  thorough  investigation  by  the  inspectors. 
The  inspector  for  Frankfort  was  Karl  von  Schweitzer,  with 
the  league  name  Alexis.  When  Schweitzer  had  repeatedly 
disappointed  his  expectation  of  an  introduction  to  Buri, 
Goethe  wrote  to  the  "  Archon"  in  May,  1764.  After  a  few 
formalities  and  compliments,  he  goes  on  in  his  letter  to 
confess  his  shortcomings,  in  order  that  Herr  von  Buri  may 
know  whether  or  not  they  disqualify  him  for  admission. 
' '  One  of  my  chief  failings  is  that  I  am  somewhat  impetuous. 
I  dare  say  you  know  about  the  choleric  temperament ;  but 
nobody  forgets  an  insult  more  easily  than  I.  I  am  also 
used  to  laying  down  the  law,  yet  when  I  have  nothing  to 
say  I  can  hold  my  tongue.  But  I  will  gladly  submit  to 
such  a  discipline  as  one  might  well  expect  of  your  wisdom. 
At  the  very  beginning  of  my  letter  you  will  find  my  third 
fault,  viz.,  that  I  write  as  familiarly  to  you  as  if  I  had 
known  you  a  hundred  years.  But  what  is  the  difference? 
This  is  a  habit  I  cannot  break  myself  of.  .  .  .  It  oc- 
curs to  me  that  I  have  further  the  fault  of  great  impatience 


36  tTbe  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

and  a  dislike  of  uncertainty.  I  beg  you  to  decide  as  quickly 
as  possible.  These  are  my  greatest  faults.  Your  pene- 
trating eye  will  see  a  hundred  other  little  ones,  which  I  hope, 
however,  will  not  exclude  me  from  your  favour.  .  .  ." 
Meanwhile  Alexis  warned  the  "Archon"  Buri  for  heaven's 
sake  not  to  take  up  with  Goethe,  whom  he  had  failed  to 
recommend  on  account  of  his  vices.  "On  account  of  his 
vices."  One  can  trace  here  the  after-effects  of  the  recent 
criminal  lawsuit,  in  which  Goethe's  name  had  been  in- 
volved. From  the  polite  answer  in  which  Buri  referred 
him  to  Alexis  as  the  proper  channel  of  communication, 
Goethe  thought  he  had  some  hope  and  wrote  again  to  Buri, 
innocently  calHng  Alexis  one  of  his  best  friends,  whom  he 
had  begged  to  tell  the  whole  truth.  "He  is  not  to  pass 
over  any  of  my  faults,  but  he  must  not  keep  back  my 
good  points  either.  But,  with  all  that,  I  beg  you  kindly  to 
take  the  pains  to  examine  me  yourself ;  for  however  clever 
Alexis  may  be,  something  may  escape  him  which  would  be 
unpleasant  to  you.  In  some  respects  I  resemble  a  chame- 
leon. Is  my  Alexis  to  be  blamed,  then,  if  he  has  not  yet 
studied  all  my  phases?  .  ,  .  We  have  a  lot  of  block- 
heads in  our  city,  as  you  no  doubt  very  well  know.  Let  us 
suppose,  now,  such  a  one  takes  it  into  his  head  to  join  your 
society.  He  asks  his  tutor  to  write  a  letter  for  him,  and 
almost  beautiful  letter,  too.  The  tutor  does  so  and  the 
young  man  signs  it.  In  this  way  you  are  led  to  form  a  high 
opinion  of  his  scholarship  and  initiate  him  without  exam- 
ination. When  you  scrutinise  him  closely  you  find  that  you 
have  added  to  your  numbers,  not  a  scholar,  but  a  num- 
skull. That  is  unpardonable.  Now  it  is  quite  possible  that 
I  am  such  a  one,  and  so  you  need  to  be  on  your  guard." 
As  a  result  of  Schweitzer's  reports,  Wolfgang  seems  not 
to  have  been  taken  into  the  league.  But  this  is  of  minor 
importance.  What  interests  us  here  is  the  letters  as  evi- 
dence of  the  young  poet's  talents.  The  facility  in  com- 
position, the  self-analysis,  the  dominating  humour,  with 
which  the  fourteen-year-old  boy  speaks  of  himself,  show 
even  in  these  formal  letters  the  claw  of  the  lion. 


jEarllest  iprobuctlons  37 

To  the  next  year  belongs  one  of  his  real  poems,  Die 
Hollenfahrt  Christi,  which  his  friends  printed  without  his 
knowledge  in  1766.  Here  Goethe  imitates  the  religious 
poetry  of  his  time,  and  this  composition  shows,  therefore, 
little  originality.  Nevertheless  it  is  a  striking  production 
because  of  the  smoothness  of  the  verse  and  the  purity  and 
simplicity  of  the  language.  Any  other  poet  so  young  would 
have  yielded  to  the  temptation  to  exhaust  all  his  rhetoric 
in  the  treatment  of  this  subject.  Wolfgang,  on  the  con- 
trary, painted  with  the  restraint  of  a  mature  artist.  We 
possess  further  from  the  Frankfort  period  the  following 
entry  in  Max  Moors 's  album:  2* 

®ieH  ift  baa  S3ilb  bcr  3Selt, 
5)ie  tnnn  fiir  bie  bcfte  ^cilt: 
gaft  lt)ie  einc  !i)J?6rbergrube, 
f^aft  itiie  cincg  S3iir[cl)cn  Stube, 
^nft  fo  mie  cin  S)pernl)aiia, 
ga[t  irie  cin  'iWagifterfc^maug, 
§a)'t  rnie  topfe  Don  ^oeten, 
f^aft  raie  fd)one  Siaritaten, 
gaft  role  nbgctia^tc^  ®e(b 
@icl)t  fie  aug,  bie  bcfte  SBelt.* 

The  poet  wrote  these  verses  on  his  sixteenth  birthday. 
Probably  never  did  a  sixteen-year-old  youth  gibe  the  world 
more  gayly  and  more  critically;  and  it  makes  little  differ- 
ence whether  Voltaire  guided  his  hand  or  not,  for  it  is 
evident  that  the  ideas  had  become  his  own  free  possession. 

The  above-mentioned  poetic  pieces  are  only  tiny  specimens 
of  a  mountain  of  compositions  which  the  boy  heaped  up  and 
later  destroyed  by  fire.     For,  as  Goethe  tells  us  himself, 

*  Thus  it  is  the  world  appears, 
That  is  called  the  best  of  spheres: 
Like  a  haunt  of  highwaymen, 
Like  a  merry  student's  den, 
Like  a  gaudy  op'ra  house. 
Like  a  master's  gay  carouse, 
Like  a  host  of  poet-freaks, 
Like  a  store  of  fine  antiques, 
Much,  indeed,  this  best  of  spheres 
Like  a  worn-out  coin  appears. 


38  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boctbe 

even  in  early  youth  he  was  seized  with  a  perfect  rage  for 
making  rhymes  and  verses,  and  was  encouraged  by  the  ap- 
plause of  his  parents  and  teachers  to  go  to  the  greatest  ex- 
tremes. About  the  year  1763  he  began  to  collect  his  poems. 
His  fertility  enabled  him  to  hand  over  to  his  father  as  the 
yearly  increase  of  his  muse  a  large  quarto  volume  of  five 
hundred  pages. 

There  is  no  kind  of  composition  in  which  he  did  not  try 
his  powers.  We  have  already  heard  of  love  songs  and 
hymns  for  a  wedding  and  a  fiuieral;  the  religious  poem  of 
which  we  have  heard  can  only  be  considered  as  the  last  link 
in  a  great  chain  of  similar  productions.  He  also  wrote  a 
long  series  of  Anacreontic  poems.  He  attempted  the  epic 
at  the  age  of  fourteen  in  an  elaborate  prose  poem,  drawn 
from  the  Scriptures,  of  which  Joseph  was  the  hero.  He 
had,  furthermore,  set  forth  the  story  of  Joseph  in  twelve 
scenes,  some  of  which  to  his  great  satisfaction  were  de- 
picted by  Frankfort  artists.  To  the  epic  category  belong 
further  the  strange  novel,  in  which  he  makes  six  brothers 
and  sisters  enter  into  correspondence  with  one  another,  and 
the  humorous  descriptions  of  travels  and  pleasure  excur- 
sions in  company  with  his  friends. 

But  he  was  by  far  most  fruitful  in  the  dramatic  field. 
The  puppet  show  which  his  grandmother  had  given  him  at 
Christmas,  1753,  exerted  a  great  and  lasting  influence  upon 
him.  He  soon  began  to  direct  it  himself,  and  with  the  help 
of  his  father's  servant  produced  David  und  Goliath  according 
to  a  written  text-book,  the  little  fellow  declaiming  the  parts 
of  David  and  Jonathan  with  great  fire.  Since  the  pre- 
sentation was  received  with  applause,  even  if  his  father,  for 
pedagogical  reasons  did  leaven  his  praise  with  critical  re- 
marks, the  boy  became  more  and  more  absorbed  in  the  new 
theatrical  world.  David  und  Goliath  was  cast  aside,  and 
more  pretentious  selections  from  Gottsched's  Deutsche 
Schauhahne  were  put  on  the  stage,  as  well  as  Italian- 
German  operas  which  Wolfgang  had  rescued  from  the  dust 
of  his  grandfather's  library.  By  degrees  the  puppet  theatre 
began  to  pall  upon  the  active  boy.     He  wanted  to  take  a 


J6arlle0t  iprobuctions  39 

part  in  the  action  himself.  He  organised  among  his  friends 
a  Httle  troupe  which  the  tailor  servant  of  the  household 
costumed,  and  for  years  they  played  enthusiastically  upon 
an  improvised  stage  before  an  audience  consisting  of  the 
young  actors'  relatives.  But  just  as  the  boy  had  given  up 
the  puppet  play  because  he  wished  to  appear  himself  upon 
the  stage,  so  he  was  now  eager  to  give,  along  with  the  plays 
of  others,  some  of  his  own  creations.  After  his  childish 
naivete  had  adapted  to  the  stage  some  epic  scenes  from 
Jerusalem  Delivered,  which,  to  the  great  enjoyment  of  the 
spectators,  but  to  his  own  deep  vexation,  compelled  him  to 
turn  from  dialogue  to  narration,  he  composed  some  original 
plays  that  were  correct  in  the  technique  of  the  stage.  He 
says  in  Wilhelm  Meister:  "My  passion  for  dramatising 
every  novel  I  read  and  all  the  history  I  was  taught  was  ir- 
resistible, even  in  the  case  of  the  most  refractory  material. 
.  Whenever  we  had  a  lesson  in  the  history  of  the 
world  I  carefully  marked  where  some  man  was  stabbed  or 
poisoned  in  a  peculiar  manner,  and  my  imagination  hurried 
over  the  exposition  and  the  unfolding  of  the  plot  and 
hastened  on  to  the  interesting  fifth  act."  At  the  same  time 
he  had  a  mania  for  reading  plays  and  devoured  a  great  mass 
of  theatrical  productions.  The  French  theatre  probably 
increased  this  passion  greatly,  and  in  the  course  of  time  he  . 
knew  no  greater  happiness  than  to  read,  write,  and  act^ 
plays,  and,  whenever  there  were  performances  in  Frankfort, 
to  attend  them.  This  passionate  inclination  could  not  but 
bring  into  the  world  a  host  of  dramatic  compositions.  In 
the  outline  of  his  life  which  he  sketched  for  Dichtung  und 
Wahrheit  (his  autobiography) ,  the  poet  mentions  many  lost 
pieces  of  the  French  type.  Among  them  was  the  myth- 
ological, allegorical  piece  which  he  submitted  to  his  friend 
Derones,  also  the  tragedy  of  Belsazar,  the  first  redaction  of 
Die  Laune  des  Verliebten,  which  was  written  in  Alexandrines 
and  has  been  preserved  in  a  small  fragment,  Amine,  and 
probably  the  compositions  mentioned  in  letters  from 
Leipsic, — Isabel,  Ruth,  and  Selima.  But  his  dramatic  muse 
also  paid  fitting  tribute  to  the  Romans  and  Italians.     We 


40  Zhc  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

know  that  he  imitated  Terence  and  wrote  an  Italian  opera, 
La  Sposa  Rapita. 

That  a  sixteen-year-old  youth,  who  could  look  back 
upon  such  a  fertile  poetic  activity,  who  had  received  praise 
and  adulation  for  his  productions  from  young  friends  and 
old,  and  who  had  been  conscious  of  the  power  of  his  genius, 
should  find  difficulty  in  keeping  to  a  regular  civic  career, 
such  as  his  father  planned  for  him,  was  to  have  been  fore- 
seen. In  fact,  the  example  of  his  father,  who,  after  so  much 
study,  thought,  and  travel,  led  a  solitary  life  between  his 
fireproof  walls,  could  not  but  make  him  doubly  resolved  not 
to  follow  in  his  tracks.  Not  to  study  law  was,  therefore, 
with  him  a  settled  purpose.  He  thought  that  he  had  made 
sufficient  concessions  to  the  demands  of  practical  life  when 
he  fixed  upon  a  chair  in  a  university  as  his  goal  and  to  this 
end  determined  to  study  the  classical  languages  and  an- 
tiquities. He  had  proudly  signed  himself  in  Moors 's  album 
"A  Lover  of  Belles- Lettres."  At  all  other  times  he  care- 
fully guarded  the  secret  of  his  plans  communicating  them 
only  to  his  sister  whom  he  terrified  thereby  not  a  little. 

Finally  came  the  time  for  Wolfgang  to  go  to  Leipsic, 
and  he  was  glad  of  it,  for  he  eagerly  longed  to  get  away 
from  home  and  native  city.  He  was  out  of  sympathy  with 
both:  home,  because  of  the  pedantic  surliness  of  his 
father;  native  city,  because  of  the  criminal  trial  and  the 
defects  in  the  municipal  constitution,  which  he  had  learned 
to  know  so  well.  And  so  it  came  about  that,  at  the  end 
of  September,  1765,  when  he  left  his  native  city,  he  turned 
his  back  upon  it  as  indifferently  as  if  he  had  not  been 
reared  there  and  was  never  to  return. 


IV 

FIRST   SEMESTER   OF    STUDENT   LIFE 

Gallant  Leipsic — Goethe  changes  dress  and  conduct — Retains  peculiari- 
ties of  speech — Feeling  of  freedom — Aristocratic  appearance  of 
Leipsic — Goethe's  private  life — Ambition  to  be  a  professor  of 
belles-lettres  —  Discouraged  by  the  BOhmes — His  poems  con- 
demned— Doubts  his  own  talent — Burns  his  manuscripts — Uni- 
versity lectures  are  barren,  dull,  unsatisfactory — No  fondness  for 
cards  or  dancing — Melancholy  and  lonely. 

IN  company  with  Bookseller  Fleischer  and  his  wife, 
Goethe,  an  odd  little  boy,  all  btindled  up  (as  he  de- 
scribes himself  ten  years  later),  journeyed  by  the  great 
post-road  through  Hanau,  Fulda,  Erfurt,  Auerstadt,  Naimi- 
burg,  Rippach — jestingly  alluded  to  in  Auerbachs  Keller — 
to  Leipsic,  "gallant  Leipsic,  famed  throughout  Europe," 
as  the  city  of  lindens  on  the  Pleisse  is  called  on  the  title- 
page  of  a  guide-book  published  in  the  year  1725  by  Ic- 
cander  *  of  Dresden.  Both  adjectives  were  apt.  The 
great  fairs,  the  famous  university,  and  the  extensive  book 
trade,  of  which  Leipsic  was  even  then  the  centre,  had 
spread  its  name  throughout  all  the  countries  of  Europe  and 
brought  representatives  of  all  European  nations  from  time 
to  time  within  its  walls.  Moreover,  wealth,  higher  educa- 
tion, and  international  commerce,  in  conjunction  with  a 
French  colony,  had  produced  an  aristocracy  of  manners  and 
outward  appearances  that  made  the  term  "gallant"  seem 
well  deserved.  Every  German  who  entered  the  city  felt 
immediately  that  a  finer  atmosphere  prevailed  here.  Young 
Lessing,  who  had  prepared  himself  for  the  university  only  a 

*  Iccander  is  the  pseudonym  of  J.  C.  Crell.     Cf.  Euphor  ,  v,  775- 

41 


42  Zbc  %\fc  of  (Boetbe 

few  miles  from  Leipsic,  was  painfully  surprised  to  see  how 
far  he  was  behind  the  people  of  the  "gallant"  city.  He 
complained  bitterly  of  his  utter  ignorance  in  matters  of 
social  intercourse  and  of  his  rustic,  unrefined  person.  If 
we  wish  to  get  an  idea  of  the  typical  Leipsic  dandy  as  con- 
trasted with  a  country  bumpkin  we  shall  do  well  to  take 
Goethe's  advice  and  consult  Zacharia's  Renommist  (Brag- 
gadocio), where  in  a  well-known  passage  the  goddess  of 
fashion  calls  out  to  a  Jena  student  by  the  name  of  Rauf- 
bold  (Bully) : 

©ei  niir  ein  2eipjiger,  Dcrtrirf  bic  f^lec^te  Srac^t, 
®ie  blc^  ^ier  Idc^crlicf),  unb  Sc^oncn  fi^recfli^  moc^t. 
5)etn  3opf  Derroanblc  [id^  in  cinen  [d^roarjen  Seutel; 
^cin  ^iit  bcbccfe  met)r  bie  aufgcpu^te  ©cfjeitel ; 
3n  Sena  lic$  bir  nur  ein  fur^er  5irniel  [c^on, 
SSeit  beffer  roirb  bir  l)ier  ein  langer  ^luffc^lag  fte^n. 
®ein  ungefdmmte^  $aar  g(eid)t  einent  ©perling^nefte : 
SKie  t)d^lt(^  (cipt  bir  nid)t  bie  Ieicl)te  gelbe  ®cfte. 
(Sie,  bic  i^t  fpottifc^  furj  urn  beine  .^fiftcn  fcf)ldgt, 
@ci  Icinger  nu^  ©rifett  nnb  ftarf  niit  @olb  belegt. 
®ie  Otenter  In^  allein  bie  [diroeren  (Stiefdn  briirfcn, 
9Sie  fann  bie  9)?db(^en  nic^t  ein  feibner  (Strnmpf  cntgiicfcn ; 
®ein  ^egen  roerbe  flein  unb  fniipf  urn  i^n  ein  35anb 
3um  3eid)en,  h(i^  '^w  bid^  gu  meinem  Sleicf)  befannt. 
S^crabfc^eu  uon  nun  an  bie  ungegognen  §dnbel ; 
@pric^  jierlic^  unb  gallant,  unb  riec^e  nac^  Sadenbcl.* 

*  Come,  be  a  Leipziger  and  doff  thy  rural  air 
That  renders  thee  absurd  and  odious  to  the  fair. 
A  sable  bagwig  make  of  thine  unseemly  queue 
And  let  thy  well-frizzed  hair  no  hat  obscure  from  view; 
In  Jena,  it  is  true,  short  sleeves  are  well  enough, 
More  modish  here  in  Leipsic  appears  a  longer  cuff. 
Thy  shock  is  like  the  nest  of  some  untidy  bird; 
Thy  yellow  waistcoat  sits  thee  ill,  upon  my  word 
Too  short  it  falls  about  thy  hips  in  mocking  fold: 
Procure  a  long  grisett  one,  richly  trimmed  with  gold. 
Be  none  but  troopers'  feet  in  heavy  boots  arrayed, 
Silk  hose  will  sooner  take  the  fancy  of  a  maid 
Small  be  thy  sword,  a  knotted  ribbon  at  its  hilt. 
Thy  sworn  allegiance  to  this  land  betoken  thus  thou  wilt. 
Be  nice  in  speech  and  gallant,  and  boorish  brawling  shun; 
Thy  person  aye  exhale  sweet  lavender,  my  son. 


flvBt  Semeetcr  of  Stubent  Xlfc  43 

We  are  not  a  little  surprised  at  the  ready  recognition, 
on  the  part  of  our  young  student,  of  the  superior  elegance 
of  the  Saxon  commercial  and  educational  metropolis,  even 
though  he  had  come  from  a  larger  ^5  and  wealthier  city, 
nearer  the  seat  of  French  culture,  where  he  had  grown  up 
in  the  midst  of  the  foremost  families. 

Even  his  dress  did  not  come  up  to  the  standard  of 
Leipsic  taste.  To  be  sure,  his  father  had  personally  selected 
for  his  clothes  the  finest  and  best  materials;  but  in  his 
economical  spirit  he  had  had  them  made  by  his  servant, 
and  while  the  art  of  this  amateur  tailor  may  well  have  suf- 
ficed for  the  Frankfort  taste,  in  the  Leipsic  circles  where 
young  Goethe  moved  it  seemed  ridiculous.  After  his  eyes 
were  opened  by  some  sympathetic  woman  friends  he 
wasted  little  time  in  exchanging  his  entire  wardrobe  for  a 
new  one  in  the  Leipsic  style.  In  other  features  of  his  out- 
ward appearance,  especially  in  his  manners,  he  had  a  great 
deal  to  learn  before  he  could  feel  himself  on  an  equality 
with  Leipsic  gentlemen;  and  as  he  was  given  to  extremes 
in  his  youth  he  passed  at  one  bound  from  the  Old  Franconian 
habits  to  the  most  affected  rococo.  "  If  you  could  only  see 
him,"  writes  his  friend  Horn,  who  entered  the  university  a 
semester  later,  in  a  letter  to  the  younger  Moors,  expressing 
his  indignation  at  Goethe's  defection  from  the  customs  of 
his  native  city,  "you  would  either  go  mad  with  anger  or 
burst  with  laughter.  I  cannot  understand  at  all  how  a 
man  can  change  so  quickly.  All  his  habits  and  his  whole 
bearing  at  present  are  as  different  from  his  former  conduct 
as  day  is  from  night.  His  pride  has  made  him  a  fop,  and 
his  clothes,  with  all  their  beauty,  are  in  such  foolish  taste 
that  he  is  the  most  conspicuous  person  in  the  whole  uni- 
versity. But  this  does  not  disturb  him;  no  matter  how 
much  one  holds  up  his  folly  to  him, 

9J?an  mag  5lmp^lon  [cin  unb  ^tU  unb  5iSftIb  bcgroingcn, 
9lur  fcincn  ©oet^c  nic^t  fann  man  gur  t(ugt)cit  bringen.* 

*  Amphion  might  one  be,  and  conquer  rock  and  wood 
But  ne'er  a  Gk)ethe  force  to  realise  his  good 


44  Zl)c  %ltc  of  (Boetbe 

He  has  adopted  such  gestures  and  poses  with  his  hands  that 
one  cannot  possibly  refrain  from  laughing  at  them.  He 
has  acquired  a  gait  that  is  simply  intolerable.  Oh!  if  you 
could  only  see  it! 

II  marche  h  pas  compt^s, 

Comme  un  recteur  suivi  des  quatre  facult^s." 

But  his  clothes  and  manners  were  not  all.  His  lan- 
guage, too,  found  no  favour  in  Leipsic  society.  For  though 
his  father  had  always  insisted  that  the  children  strive  for 
a  certain  purity  of  language,  still  the  more  deep-seated 
peculiarities  of  the  Frankfort  dialect  were  not  to  be  eradi- 
cated. Besides,  Goethe  was  fond  of  spicing  his  language 
with  vigorous  biblical  phrases,  naive  expressions  from  the 
old  chronicles,  and  blunt  proverbs.  And  so  the  people  of 
Leipsic,  who  claimed  to  have  an  old  and  universally  recog- 
nised monopoly  of  the  best  German  and  considered  a  thin, 
watery  style  as  perfection,  looked  upon  Goethe's  manner 
of  speech  as  vulgar  and  strange;  and  they  urged  poor 
Wolfgang  on  all  sides  to  submit  in  matters  of  language  also 
to  the  dictation  of  the  gallant  city.  But  while  he  readily 
accommodated  himself  in  outward  matters,  his  change  of 
idiom  was  scarcely  noticeable. 

,  The  criticism  of  his  Frankfort  peculiarities,  however, 
disturbed  but  little  the  young  student's  enjoyment  of  the 
new  life  that  had  dawned  for  him.  He  had  been  set  free. 
This  glorious  feeling  swells  his  breast,  and  in  his  joy  he 
writes  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  Riese : 

3c^  lebc  ()icr 
@o  roic  cin  5^oqc(,  bcr  aiif  cincm  9l[t 
3m  [d)6n[tcn  3BnIb  fic^  grcilicit  atmcnb  itiicgt, 
Dcr  ungcj'tort  bic  [anftc  J^uft  gcnic^t, 
9!J?it  [cincn  ^ittigcn  lion  93anm  git  93aum, 
SSon  33ii[c^  jii  23ui'(^  fic^  fingcnb  ^in3u[d)mingcn.* 

*  My  sojourn  here 
Is  like  a  bird's,  that,  in  a  shady  wood 
Inhaling  freedom  on  a  bending  bough, 
Doth  undisturbed  enjoy  the  balmy  air 
And  flit  at  will  from  tree  to  tree, 
From  bush  to  bush,  and  make  sweet  melody. 


jflret  Scmeeter  of  Stu^ent  Xife         45 

His  enjoyment  of  freedom  was  all  the  greater  because 
his  father  had  provided  him  with  a  well-filled  purse,  and 
Leipsic  appeared  to  him  at  first  cheerful,  interesting,  and 
important.  As  he  entered  the  city,  the  streets  and  open 
squares  swarmed  with  the  gay  multitude  at  the  fair,  the 
Greeks,  Poles,  and  Russians  being  strangely  conspicuous 
in  their  national  costumes.  The  city  itself  presented  a 
more  modern  and  more  aristocratic  appearance  than  Frank- 
fort. The  streets  were  broader  and  more  regular,  the 
houses  more  pretentious  and  more  richly  ornamented  both 
within  and  without.  The  upper  stories  did  not  project 
over  the  street,  each  beyond  the  one  beneath,  as  at  home. 
But  he  was  especially  impressed  with  the  trading-houses, 
which,  with  their  "  sky-high  walls  "  enclosing  several  courts 
and  fronting  on  two  parallel  streets,  seemed  like  minia- 
ture cities;  as,  for  example,  the  Feuerkugel  between  the 
old  Neumarkt  (now  Universitatsstrasse)  and  the  new, 
where  Goethe  first  took  lodgings ;  or  Auerbachs  Hof ,  called 
"Little  Leipsic,"  with  its  wine  cellar  already  far-famed 
because  of  Faust's  magic  ride.  The  city  was  further 
splendidly  adorned  with  large  private  gardens  laid  out  with 
excellent  taste  for  the  time.  "They  are  as  splendid," 
Wolfgang  writes  to  Cornelia  in  December,  1765,  "as  any- 
thing I  have  ever  seen ;  perhaps  I  shall  send  you  some  day 
a  view  of  the  entrance  to  the  Apels's  garden.  It  is  superb. 
The  first  time  I  saw  it  I  thought  I  was  entering  the  fields 
of  Elysium." 

His  private  life  also  took  on  a  pleasant  aspect.  He  was 
kindly  received  by  the  families  to  which  he  had  brought 
letters;  the  excellent  theatre  was  a  great  centre  of  attrac- 
tion, and  his  dinners,  at  Privy  Councillor  Ludwig's,  with  a 
company  composed  almost  exclusively  of  students  of  medi- 
cine, were  always  entertaining,  and  so  delightful  to  his 
palate  that  he  wrote  his  friend  Riese  and  his  sister  Cor- 
nelia with  great  satisfaction  about  all  the  delicious  dainties 
that  were  served.  Lastly  he  was  carried  away  with  en- 
thusiasm for  his  professors  the  first  time  he  met  them,  if 
he  writes  his  father  the  truth  and  not  as  a  diplomat.     "  You 


46  ^be  %\te  of  (5oetbe 

cannot  believe,"  he  says  in  a  letter  of  the  13th  of  October, 
"  what  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  be  a  professor.  I  was  completely 
charmed  to  see  some  of  these  people  in  their  glory.  Nil 
istis  splendiditis,  gravius  ac  honoratius.  Oculorum  animique 
aciem  ita  mihi  perstrinxit  auctoritas  gloriaque  eorum,  tit  nullos 
prceter  honores  Professura  alios  sitiam."  * 

Goethe's  thoughts,  as  we  know,  were  of  a  professorship 
of  belles-lettres,  but  his  father  probably  thought  he  meant 
one  of  law,  which  was  a  good  stepping-stone  to  the  higher 
official  career. 

Thus  the  Leipsic  heaven  during  the  first  weeks  smiled 
benignly  upon  our  student.  But  soon  cloud  after  cloud 
came  up,  and  the  little  bird  which  at  first  had  rejoiced  so 
loudly  became  gradually  stiller  and  stiller. 

Among  the  men  to  whom  Goethe  brought  an  intro- 
duction was  Privy  Councillor  Bohme,  professor  of  history 
and  constitutional  law.  With  frank  devotion  to  the  ideal 
the  youth  confided  to  him  his  plan  of  giving  up  jurisprudence 
and  devoting  himself  to  the  study  of  the  classics  and 
poetry.  But  he  had  come  to  the  wrong  man  with  his  con- 
fession. Instead  of  supporting  him  in  this  purpose,  the 
professor  turned  upon  him  a  cold  douche  of  practical  ad- 
vice and  disparagement  of  belles-lettres.  The  professor  ad- 
vised him  that  if  he  insisted  on  taking  up  the  study  of  the 
classics,  this  could  be  done  through  the  medium  of  juris- 
prudence; in  no  case,  however,  should  he  take  the  step 
without  the  consent  of  his  parents.  A  later  conversation 
with  Frau  Bohme,  who  was  as  wise  as  she  was  amiable, 
completed  the  work  of  persuasion  begun  by  her  husband. 
The  young  eagle  let  his  wings  be  cropped,  and  hopped  about 
sorrowfully  upon  the  ground  of  professional  study. 

His  gloom  was  deepened  when  Frau  Bohme  condemned 
some  poems  of  his  which  he  had  recited  to  her  without 
mentioning  the  author.  As  this  fault-finding  criticism  was 
on  occasion  continued  by  Professors   Morus  and  Clodius 

*  There  is  nothing  more  splendid,  more  dignified,  and  more  honour- 
able. Their  authority  and  renown  so  dazzled  my  eyes  and  my  soul  that 
I  thirst  for  no  honour  but  that  of  a  professorship. 


fflrst  Semester  of  Stubent  Xtfe  47 

and  supported  by  good  grounds,  the  poet  was  seized  with 
rage  and  contempt  for  everything  he  had  ever  written  in 
poetry  and  prose,  and  he  mercilessly  threw  almost  all  the 
fine  things  which  he  had  brought  along  from  Frankfort 
into  the  fire.  His  landlady,  good  old  Frau  Straube,  was 
not  a  little  frightened  when  the  smoke  from  the  fire  of  this 
heroic  sacrifice  went  drifting  through  the  house.  His 
sorrow  over  the  destroyed  writings  would  have  been  less 
intolerable  if  the  criticism  of  Frau  Bohme  and  others  had 
not  at  the  same  time  provoked  in  his  young  heart  a  doubt 
of  his  poetic  talent  and  a  disgust  with  poetic  composition, 
which  had  previously  afforded  him  so  much  happiness. 
So  he  writes  the  elegiac  lines  to  Riese : 

®ani  anbre  SKiinfc^e  fteigen  je^t  aU  [onft, 

©eliebter  greunb,  in  tneiner  93ru[t  {)crQuf. 

®u  iDci^t,  roie  fe^r  id)  mic^  giir  ©id^tfunft  tieigtc, 

SSIc  grower  $a§  in  nteincm  S3u[cn  fd)Iug, 

W\t  bem  id^  bie  Derfolgtc,  bic  firf)  nur 

®em  9icc^t  nnb  [eincm  ^ciligtume  m\\)kn 

Unb  nic^t  ber  9J?u[en  fnnften  fiocfungcn 

©in  offneg  £)^r  nnb  oueigeftredPtc  ^anbe 

SSoU  (Sc[)n)nd)t  rei^ten.     5ld),  1)n  n)ei|t,  mein  greunb, 

SBie  fc()r  id)  (nnb  geroi^  mit  Unrei^t)  glaubte, 

®ic  3)?n[e  licbte  mid)  nnb  gnb'  ntir  oft 

©in  fiieb.     ©^  flang  lion  ntciner  Scier  gmor 

SD^and)'  ftoljcg  Sicb,  ba^  nbcr  nid)t  bie  9}?ufen, 

Unb  nid)t  5lpoUo  reic^tcn.     Btnar  mein  ©tolj, 

<5)cr  ginnbt  e^,  ba^  fo  tief  gn  mir  l)erab 

(Sid^  ©otter  nieberlie^cn.     .     .     . 

SlUcin  fanm  fam  id)  bcr,  al8  frfmell  ber  9lebel 
S?on  mcincn  5lngen  fnnf,  alei  id)  ben  3ln^m 
5)er  gro^cn  9J?anner  fal)  nnb  er[t  ocrnafim, 
SBic  ml  bajn  gcl)orte,  9tn^m  Derbienen. 
®a  [a^  id)  erft,  ba^  mein  erbabner  glng, 
3Sic  cr  mir  fd^ien,  nid)t^  raar  nig  ta§>  Semiibn 
5)cg  SBnrm^  im  (Stanbe,  ber  ben  5lblcr  [iebt 
3nr  @onn'  fid)  fcbwingcn,  nnb  roie  ber  l)inanf 
©id)  fel^nt.     ®r  ftrciubt  empor  nnb  minbet  fid) 


48  Zbc  Xlfe  of  Goetbe 

Unb  dngftlic^  [pannt  cr  oUe  9lcrDcn  on 
Unb  bleibt  am  ©taiib.     ...  * 

And  this  was  not  Goethe's  only  bitter  experience:  after 
the  novelty  had  worn  off  he  was  even  more  sorely  dis- 
appointed in  his  iiniversity  instructors.  It  is  true  the 
faculties  with  which  he  was  concerned  contained  many 
prominent  and  highly  honoured  men.  But  what  could 
they  offer  to  the  youth  already  so  far  advanced  and  eager 
to  see  things  at  once  in  their  first  and  in  their  final  analysis  ? 
Among  the  philologists  the  most  brilliant  was  Ernesti, 
thorough  and  sound  in  his  explanations  of  the  classic 
authors,  and  a  methodical  critic  of  the  Bible,  but  without 
originaUty.     Goethe  heard  his  lectures  on  Cicero's  Orator  f 

*  Quite  other  longings  now  than  heretofore, 
Dear  friend,  come  surging  up  within  my  breast. 
Thou  knowest  me  much  to  poesy  inclined 
And  how  my  bosom  throbbed  with  deadly  hate, 
Which  once  I  bore  toward  those,  who,  every  thought 
Devoted  to  the  law,  its  sanctity. 
Nor  lent  to  muses'  soft  and  sweet  allures 
Attentive  ear,  nor  eager,  longing  hands 
In  love  extended.     Well  thou  knowest,  my  friend, 
My  firm  belief,  unfounded  though  it  proved, 
The  muse  did  love  me,  ever  and  anon 
My  song  inspired.     Many  a  proud  refrain 
Resounded  from  my  lyre,  but  not  the  gift 
Of  muse,  nor  of  Apollo.     In  my  pride 

I  weened  that  e'en  the  gods  above  'J 

Did  condescend  to  me.     .     .     . 

Scarce  had  I  come,  when  lo!  the  mist 

Before  mine  eyes  rolled  back,  as  I  beheld  1 

The  fame  of  scholars  great,  and  first  perceived 

What  gifts  alone  shall  merit  deathless  fame. 

Then  first  I  saw  that  mine  exalted  flight, 

As  now  revealed,  nought  differed  from  the  worm  I 

Contending  with  the  dust,  that  sees  on  high 

The  eagle  mounting  to  the  sun  and  longs 

To  soar.     He  writhes  and  struggles,  till,  erect, 

'Twixt  hope  and  fear  he  stretches  every  nerve, 

And  falls  back  grovelling. 

t  In  a  letter  to  Riese,  Br.  i.,  14,  Goethe  wrote,  at  the  time  that  he  was 
hearing  them,  that  the  lectures  were  on  the  De  Oratore. — 0. 


Iflrst  Semeeter  of  Stubcnt  Xife  49 

and  no  doubt  learned  something  from  them,  but  he  did  not 
receive  the  enlightenment  which  he  specially  desired  on  the 
canons  of  esthetic  criticism.  He  received  somewhat  greater 
benefit  from  Ernesti's  colleague,  Moms,  a  young  man  of 
thirty,  his  table  companion  at  Privy  Councillor  Ludwig's, 
who  in  private  conversation  opened  his  eyes  to  the  faults 
of  recent  German  literature.  Those  upon  whom  this  task 
should  have  fallen,  Gottsched  and  Gellert,  were  in  no  wise 
capable  of  helpful  criticism,  Gottsched  was  the  very  man 
who  had  ushered  in  that  inane,  insipid  movement  against 
which  the  younger  generation  was  revolting.  He  was  a 
superannuated  authority  who  had  outlived  his  reputation 
when  Goethe  came  to  Leipsic.  He  was  even  unable  to 
assert  his  social  standing.  "All  Leipsic  despises  him. 
Nobody  associates  with  him,"  writes  Wolfgang  to  Riese. 
The  visit  which  Goethe  and  Schlosser  made  him  in  the 
spring  of  1766,  and  which  Goethe  immortalised  in  a  delicious 
bit  of  genre  in  his  autobiography,  will  always  remain  a 
wonderful  symbolisation  of  the  contrast  between  the  old 
and  the  new  at  an  important  turning-point  in  German 
literature. 

Gellert,  on  the  contrary,  stood  extraordinarily  high  in 
the  estimation  of  young  and  old.  But  within  his  narrow 
field  of  vision  there  grew  no  fruits  that  Goethe  could  enjoy. 
From  his  lectures  on  literary  history  and  esthetics  our 
young  student  could  carry  home  at  most  a  few  learned 
facts ;  for  Gellert  had  no  conception  of  the  poetry  ^6  that 
wells  up  out  of  a  full  heart  and  genuine  feeling.  In  all  his 
lectures  on  taste  Goethe  never  heard  him  mention  the  best 
names  of  the  time:  Klopstock,  Kleist,  Wieland,  Gessner, 
Gleim,  Lessing,  Gerstenberg,  either  in  praise  or  in  con- 
demnation. His  ethical  lectures,  bearing  evidence  of  a 
beautiful  soul  and  noble  sympathy,  made  an  impression 
for  the  moment,  but  when  critically  examined  they  lost 
their  pleasing  glamour.  His  practical  exercises  in  German 
and  Latin  composition  for  the  cultivation  of  the  under- 
standing and  style  were  equally  distasteful  to  Goethe,  since 
Gellert  objected  to  verse  in  compositions,  while  impassioned, 

VOL.  I. — 4. 


u- 


50  ^be  Xitc  of  (Boetbe 

stirring  prose  seemed  to  his  tame  mind  something  out- 
landish and  objectionable.  Clodius,  a  younger  colleague, 
soon  took  charge  of  Gellert's  exercises,  and  he  was  some- 
what more  patient  with  poetry.  But  his  own  verses 
rattled  so  with  their  antiquated  fetters  that  they  brought 
down  the  biting  sarcasm  of  his  gifted  hearer. 

Goethe  received  no  greater  satisfaction  from  the  philo- 
sophers. Of  real  being,  the  world,  and  God  the  student 
thought  he  knew  about  as  much  as  the  professors,  and  in 
more  than  one  respect  their  philosophy  seemed  to  him  very 
lame.  So  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  toward  the  end 
of  the  semester  the  doughnuts  which  came  from  the  frying- 
pan  just  at  the  hour  when  Winckler  was  lecturing  were 
more  of  an  attraction  to  him  than  the  professor's  philosophy, 
and  brought  the  collegium  philosophicum  to  a  sweet  but 
untimely  end.  The  same  professor's  physical  lectures, 
however,  proved  to  be  of  permanent  value  to  him,  and  he 
remembers  them  later  in  his  study  of  the  theory  of  colour. 

The  professors  of  law,  to  which  it  was  his  duty  to  devote 
himself,  could  not  have  kept  him  in  their  field  even  if  their 
lectures  had  shown  more  thoroughness  and  intelligence 
than  they  really  did.  Thus  the  university,  whither  he  had 
gone  with  such  great  expectations,  had  become  for  him  in 
one  semester  a  place  of  barren  learning  and  dull  mediocrity. 

He  also  gradually  lost  interest  in  his  social  affiliations  in 
Leipsic.  He  had  endured  the  criticisms  of  his  clothes  and 
manners,  was  more  sensitive  when  his  language  was  found 
fault  with,  but  when  his  judgment  was  disapproved  of  and 
he  was  expected  to  meet  the  social  requirements  in  card- 
playing  and  dancing,  both  of  which  were  odious  to  him,  he 
became  embittered.  He  was  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
fact  that  he,  the  much-admired  and  over-indulged  prodigy 
of  Frankfort;  he,  the  grandson  of  the  chief  magistrate  of 
the  city,  treated  at  home  with  marked  respect,  was  per- 
sonally of  no  importance  here,  and  that  if  he  cared  to  en- 
joy any  consideration  he  must  conform  to  the  demands  of 
Leipsic  society.  Too  proud  and,  with  all  his  wavering,  too 
self-assured  to  yield,  he  preferred  to  withdraw  into  solitude, 


illilillii 


m 


Klopstock 

After  the  Painting  by  Fuel 

(From  Li/i-  and  Times  of  Goschen,  by  permission  of  Jolin  Murray) 


Iflret  Semester  of  Student  Xife  51 

where  he  was  often  the  victim  of  melancholy  moods;  and 
the  same  Goethe  who  on  his  arrival  in  Leipsic  had  ex- 
claimed to  his  friends,  "Fancy  a  little  bird  on  a  green 
bough  surrounded  by  every  joy;  that  is  how  I  am  living," 
complains  a  half-year  later : 

68  ift  mcin  cingigc^  S^crgniigen, 

9Bcnn  id),  cntfcrnt  lion  jcbcrmnnn, 

5lm  5^arf)c  bei  ben  33ii[d)cn  licgcn, 

Sin  meinc  i^iebcn  bcnfcn  fonn. 

55a  mirb  mein  §erg  don  hammer  ooU, 

SD?ein  Sing'  inirb  tri'iber, 

1)cr  2^acft  ranfc^t  jc^t  im  6tnrm  uoriiber, 

"Der  mir  uorljer  fo  fanft  crfcl)o(I.  * 

*  The  one  and  only  joy  of  mine 
Is  when  I  to  a  brook-side  flee, 
There  in  a  shady  nook  recline, 
And  dream  of  those  so  dear  to  me. 
My  throbbing  heart  is  filled  with  pain, 
With  tears  mine  eye, 
The  storm-swelled  brook  goes  roaring  by 
Which  once  did  sing  a  soft  refrain. 


KATCHEN    SCHONKOPF,    BEHRISCH,    OESER 

Arrival  of  Horn  and  Schlosser — Introduction  to  the  Schonkopfs — Goethe 
and  Katchen  in  love — Goethe  conscious  they  can  never  marry — 
Their  associations — A  rival — Triumph — Annette — Another  rival — 
Jealousy — Letters  to  Behrisch — Lovers  part  as  friends — Behrisch's 
character — Influence  over  Goethe — Slander — Odes  to  Behrisch — 
Goethe  avoids  Gellert  and  Bohme — Associations  with  the  Breit- 
kopfs  and  the  Obermanns — Study  of  etching  with  Stock — Painting 
and  drawing  with  Oeser — Oeser's  influence — A  visit  to  the  Dresden 
Gallery. 

AT  the  beginning  of  the  second  semester,  Goethe  was 
made  happy  by  the  arrival  of  two  of  his  Frankfort 
friends:  cheerful  little  bandy-legged  Horn  (called 
"  Homchen")  and  Johann  Georg  Schlosser,  later  to  become 
the  husband  of  Cornelia.  The  former  came  to  study,  the 
latter  for  a  short  sojourn.  Schlosser  was  Wolfgang's  senior 
by  twelve  years  and  for  some  time  had  been  engaged  in  the 
practice  of  law  at  Frankfort.  But  he  had  given  up  practice 
because  it  failed  to  satisfy  the  larger  aspirations  of  his 
mind,  and  he  had  accepted  a  position  as  private  secre- 
tary and  pedagogical  adviser  to  Duke  Friedrich  Eugen  of 
Wiirtemberg,  in  command  of  a  regiment  of  dragoons  at 
Treptow  on  the  Rega  in  Pomerania.  Passing  through 
Leipsic  on  his  way  to  his  new  field  of  labour,  he  stopped  a 
few  weeks  and  was  much  in  Goethe's  company.  Greatly 
attracted  to  this  serious,  steady  character,  whose  repose  and 
sagacity  were  doubly  impressive  when  compared  with  his 
own  thoughtless  and  vivacious  nature,  and  whose  thorough 
and  broad  education  commanded  his  high  esteem,  Goethe 
spent  with  him  many  hours  every  day  in  delightful  conver- 

52 


Ikatcben  Scbbnl^opf,  ISebrlecb,  ©eser      53 

sation,  and  felt  his  old  poetic  impulse  return.  Schlosser's 
visit,  however,  assumed  for  the  youth,  tinged  as  he  was 
with  melancholy,  a  much  greater  importance  than  that 
of  a  mere  temporary  intellectual  and  spiritual  stimulus. 
Schlosser  had  engaged  board  and  lodgings  of  the  vintner 
Schonkopf,  in  the  Briihl,  and  invited  Goethe  to  dine  with 
him  every  day.  The  people  they  met  there  were :  the  good 
Assessor  Herrmann,  amateur  of  art,  and  later  burgomaster 
of  Leipsic ;  the  refined  Privy  Councillor  Pfeil ;  quiet  Zacha- 
ria,  brother  of  the  poet;  Falstaff  Krebel,  editor  of  geo- 
graphical and  genealogical  hand-books,  beside  several 
students  of  noble  birth  from  the  Baltic  provinces  of  Russia. 
We  may  take  the  poet  at  his  word  that  no  special  persuasion 
was  required  on  the  part  of  his  table  companions  to  induce 
him  to  take  his  meals  with  them,  even  after  Schlosser's 
departure,  for  the  Schonkopf  household  contained  a  stronger 
magnet  than  its  distinguished  and  cultured  guests.  This 
was  the  daughter  of  the  house,  Anna  Katharina  Schonkopf, 
called  by  Goethe  Annchen  or  Annette,  while  her  real  nick- 
name was  Katchen.  After  a  very  few  days  of  acquaintance 
the  young  man's  heart  was  all  aflame,  and  his  relation  to  her 
formed,  from  now  on,  the  centre  of  his  Leipsic  life.  Katchen 
Schonkopf  is  unanimously  praised  by  all  who  knew  her. 
She  had  a  pretty  figure  and  a  pleasant,  open  face,  a  good 
deal  of  understanding,  was  natural,  cheerful,  somewhat 
roguish,  a  good,  honourable,  warm-hearted  girl.  Horn, 
who  lived  at  Schonkopf 's,  calls  her  the  most  virtuous  and 
perfect  of  girls,  and  assures  his  friend  Moors  that  Goethe 
and  Katchen  seemed  to  be  born  for  each  other.  Goethe 
loved  her  with  the  full  ardour  and  seriousness  of  an  honest, 
optimistic  youth,  and  yet  from  the  very  beginning  of  his 
passion  he  is  conscious  that  she  can  never  become  his  wife, 
conscious  that  there  will  come  an  hour  when  duty  and 
necessity  will  command  his  separation  from  her.  And  for 
that  reason,  in  his  quiet  moments  he  disapproves  of  his 
love-making,  which  must  arouse  illusory  hopes  in  Katchen's 
heart.  Nevertheless  he  does  not  conquer  his  inclination, 
but  gives  it  free  course  for  two  full  years.     In  this  conduct 


54  Cbc  Xife  of  6oetbe 

lies  a  moral  weakness  which  in  view  of  the  seriousness  with 
which  he  looked  upon  the  relationship  cannot  be  explained 
as  the  frivolity  of  a  student,  especially  as  the  same  phenome- 
non recurs  several  times  in  the  mature  man.  But  it  is  cer- 
tain that  it  was  not  outward  circumstances  which  disclosed 
to  him  the  aimlessness  of  his  love,  even  in  its  first  stages. 
Neither  was  he  influenced  by  the  fear  that  his  father  would 
never  give  his  consent  to  such  a  union  (for  his  passion  would 
have  given  him  the  power  or  at  least  the  courage  to  break 
down  every  resistance) ,  nor  was  it  the  pride  of  his  social  su- 
periority to  a  girl  who  indeed  was,  according  to  his  expres- 
sion, without  position  and  without  means,  for  in  a  letter  to 
Moors  he  speaks  of  these  things  with  contempt.  It  was 
rather  the  need,  dimly  conscious  in  his  mind,  of  rounding 
out  his  experience  and  not  allowing  himself  to  become  firmly 
rooted  until  he  should  have  realised  his  vaguely  formed  ideal 
of  life,  toward  which  he  yearned  as  if  impelled  by  irresisti- 
ble necessity.  On  the  other  hand  was  the  no  less  irresistible 
power  of  a  love-passion,  which  went  far  beyond  the  ordinary 
limits  of  glowing  youth.  So  there  contended  within  him 
two  mighty  demonic  powers,  which  crushed  between  them 
all  other  considerations  suggested  by  reason  or  by  con- 
science. As  now,  so  later.  It  is  easy  to  understand  that 
from  such  a  struggle,  the  violence  of  which  was  greatly 
heightened  by  the  torments  of  subtle  casuistry,  he  suffered 
intensely.  Tossed  about  by  conflicting  emotions  and  wild 
caprices,  he  tortured  himself  and  his  beloved,  at  times 
all  who  knew  him,  beyond  all  endurance.  So  in  faithful 
remembrance  of  those  days  Goethe  in  his  autobiography 
cannot  often  enough  characterise  his  state  of  mind  at  that 
period  as  moody,  whimsical,  confused,  stubborn,  and  the 
like;  and  the  recently  published  letters  to  Behrisch,  and 
Die  Laune  des  Verliebten,  emphatically  verify  this  self- 
characterisation  . 

Let  us  take  his  letters  as  the  safest  guide  to  the  develop- 
ment of  their  relationship.  In  this  way  we  shall  not  only 
receive  our  first  deep  and  sure  insight  into  the  heart  of 
this  singular  man ;  we  shall  also  become  acquainted  with  the 


Ikatcbcn  Scbonhopf,  Bebriscb,  ©eser      55 

poet  in  his  early  greatness.  For  these  letters  are  nothing 
less  than  a  companion  piece  to  Werther,  characterised  by 
all  the  imperfection  and  stormy  improvisation  of  youth. 

Goethe  had  been  in  love  with  Katchen  since  the  end  of 
April,  1766,  and  she,  though  three  years  older,  returned  his 
love  with  all  her  heart.  For  who  could  have  resisted  the 
wonderful  though  eccentric  youth,  when  he  poured  out  the 
gold  of  his  heart  and  mind  ?  The  love  was  kept  secret  from 
Katchen's  father  and  mother,  and  given  out  as  a  mere 
friendly  interest,  since  the  lovers  felt  very  sure  that  her 
parents  would  terminate  her  relations  with  such  a  young 
and  aristocratic  gentleman  as  being  to  no  purpose.  For 
greater  secrecy  Goethe  feigned  a  love-affair  with  a  well-born 
young  lady,  of  which,  however,  he  must  soon  after  have 
grown  weary.  His  love  of  Katchen  was,  for  the  student 
Wolfgang,  reason  enough  for  taking  his  meals  not  only  at 
noon  but  also  in  the  evening  at  the  Schonkopf  inn,  and  for 
dividing  many  of  the  intervening  hours  between  the  tap- 
room and  the  family  living-room  above.  Beside  the  many 
opportunities  which  favourable  fortune  afforded  there  were 
special  occasions,  such  as  singing,  instrumental  music,  and 
theatricals,  for  going  to  the  dear  house  in  the  Briihl  and 
staying  there  as  long  as  possible. 

The  summer  months  of  1766  passed  in  undisturbed  hap- 
piness of  love.  A  rival  who  put  in  his  appearance  served 
only  to  heighten  the  happiness  of  Wolfgang,  who  always 
came  off  triumphant.  Thus  he  writes  *  with  pride  and 
joy  in  the  beginning  of  October  "from  the  writing-desk 
of  his  little  one,"  who  had  gone  with  her  mother  and  the 
unsuccessful  wooer  to  the  theatre,  to  Tutor  Behrisch,  whom 
he  had  met  in  the  meantime  and  with  whom  he  had  become 
intimate : 

"It  is  very  pleasant  to  observe  a  man  taking  all  con- 
ceivable pains  to  make  himself  loved,  but  without  the  least 

*  The  original  is  in  French.  During  the  first  two  years  in  Leipsic 
Goethe  often  made  use  of  French  for  the  sake  of  practice.  As  his  pas- 
sion increased  and  he  began  to  turn  to  nature,  the  foreign  idiom  vanished 
from  his  letters. 


56  ^bc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

success,  a  man  who  for  every  kiss  would  contribute  two 
louis  d'or  to  the  poor  fund,  and  yet  will  never  get  one,  and 
then  see  me  comfortably  seated  in  a  corner  and  considered 
by  the  other  man  as  an  ill-mannered  blockhead,  and  yet, 
without  showing  my  beloved  any  attention  whatever  or  pay- 
ing her  a  single  compliment,  receiving  favours  for  which 
this  man  would  make  a  journey  to  Rome.  I  wanted  to 
leave  when  she  went,  but  to  prevent  me  she  gave  me  the 
key  to  her  writing-desk,  with  permission  to  do  or  to  write 
whatever  I  liked,  'Stay  here,'  she  said,  'till  I  return. 
You  always  have  some  nonsense  in  your  head,  either  in 
verse  or  in  prose;  put  it  on  paper  at  your  leisure.  I  will 
offer  father  some  excuse  for  your  staying  up  here;  if  he 
sees  what  is  back  of  it — well,  we  can't  help  it.'  Further- 
more, she  left  me  two  fine  apples — the  gift  of  my  rival.  I 
ate  them;  they  tasted  excellent." 

A  few  days  later  he  excused  himself  to  Behrisch  for  not 
having  accepted  an  invitation  to  supper.  He  had  received 
a  note  from  his  "little  one,"  urging  him  to  come  to  her  as 
soon  as  possible.  "  I  flew  to  her.  I  found  her  alone!  The 
whole  family  was  at  the  play.  God  in  heaven!  what  a  de- 
light to  be  alone  with  one's  sweetheart  four  hours  con- 
secutively! They  passed  without  our  noting  them.  How 
happy  these  four  hours  made  me!" 

The  winter  of  17  66-1 767  goes  by  without  our  hearing 
anything  further  about  his  love  in  his  correspondence.  He 
ceased  to  write  to  Behrisch.  In  May,  1767,  he  mentions 
Katchen's  name  for  the  first  time  to  his  sister,  remarking, 
with  feigned  indifference,  that  the  little  Schonkopf  girl 
deserved  to  be  remembered  among  his  acquaintances ;  that 
she  was  a  very  good  girl,  with  a  straightforward  heart  and 
a  pleasing  artlessness,  who  looked  after  his  washing  and  his 
clothes,  and  thereby  earned  his  love,  for  he  was  not  affected 
by  her  beauty.  In  August  we  learn  further  that  in  her 
honour  he  has  named  a  collection  of  poems  Annette. 

Autumn  came.  The  love-affair  had  lasted  now  a  year 
and  a  half.  The  excited  youth,  tormented  by  contra- 
dictory moods,  had  gradually  become  more  and  more  ex- 


Ikatcben  Scbonkopf,  Bebriecb,  Gcecv      57 

acting,  fastidious,  sensitive,  and  distrustful,  and  was  always 
demanding  new  and  surer  proofs  that  he  was  the  sole 
possessor  of  Katchen's  heart.  "You  make  the  light  bond 
of  love  a  heavy  yoke,"  is  the  apropos  remark  of  Eridon 
(Goethe)  in  Die  Laune  des  Verliehten.  This  resulted  in 
strained  relations,  and  every  trifling  incident  could  not  but 
produce  a  crisis.  Such  incidents  occurred  during  the  fair 
which  came  about  this  time. 

At  the  Schonkopfs'  two  young  strangers  had  taken 
lodgings,  and  were  to  take  both  dinners  and  suppers  in  the 
house.  This  was  annoying  to  the  suspicious  lover,  and 
Katchen,  suspecting  what  a  storm  was  brewing,  begged 
him  in  advance,  with  the  warmest  protestations  of  her 
love,  not  to  torment  her  with  jealousy,  swearing  that  she 
would  be  his  for  ever.  "But  what  can  she  swear?"  ex- 
claimed the  captious  lover.  "Can  she  swear  never  to  see 
otherwise  than  now?  Can  she  swear  that  her  heart  shall 
beat  no  more?  .  .  ,  to-day  I  was  standing  by  her  and 
talking,  while  she  played  with  the  ribbons  on  her  bonnet. 
Suddenly  the  youngest  boy  came  in  and  asked  his  mother 
for  a  taroc  card.  The  mother  went  to  the  desk,  and  the 
daughter  passed  her  hand  over  her  eye  and  rubbed  it,  as 
if  something  had  gotten  into  it.  That  is  what  makes  me 
furious.  I  am  foolish,  you  think.  Well,  hear  further. 
I  have  seen  the  girl  do  this  before.  How  often  she  has  done 
exactly  the  same  thing,  in  order  to  get  her  hand  up  to  her 
face  and  conceal  her  blushes  and  her  confusion  from  her 
mother!  and  would  she  not  do  the  same  thing  to  deceive 
her  lover  that  she  did  to  escape  her  mother's  notice?"  In 
the  next  letter  he  is  calm  again;  he  hopes  that  these  sup- 
posed rivals  will  soon  drive  each  other  mad.  But  scarcely 
have  a  few  days  more  passed  when  there  rages  within  him 
a  wilder  storm  than  ever.  "  Another  such  night  as  this,"  he 
exclaims,  in  another  letter  to  Behrisch  of  the  13th  of 
October,  "  and  I  shall  not  need  to  go  to  hell  for  all  my  sins. 
You  may  have  slept  peacefully,  but  a  jealous  lover,  who 
had  drunk  just  enough  champagne  to  warm  his  blood  to  a 
pleasing  heat  and  to  enkindle  his  imagination  to  the  highest 


58  Zbc  %ltc  of  (Boetbe 

pitch!  At  first  I  could  not  sleep,  tossed  about  in  bed, 
sprang  up,  raged;  and  then  I  grew  tired  and  went  to 
sleep;  but  how  long?  I  had  stupid  dreams  of  tall  people, 
plumed  hats,  tobacco  pipes,  tours  d'adresse,  tours  de  passe- 
passe,  and  then  I  woke  up  and  consigned  it  all  to  the  devil. 
After  that  I  had  a  quiet  hour,  pleasant  dreams.  Her  ac- 
customed mien,  beckoning  at  the  door,  kisses  as  we  passed, 
and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  ft!  she  had  me  in  a  bag.  After 
that  it  seemed  as  if  I  were  away  from  her,  but  not  out  of  the 
bag ;  I  wished  to  be  let  out, — and  awoke.  The  cursed  bag 
was  in  my  head.  Then  the  idea  came  to  me  suddenly  that 
I  would  never  see  you  again — for  I  had  firmly  made  up  my 
mind  to  it,  and  am  still  half  in  the  notion — and  that  I  felt,  in 
a  moment  when  I  would  not  have  given  the  devil  a  penny 
to  ransom  my  little  one  from  his  claws,  in  a  paroxysm  of 
fever  that  made  my  head  swim.  I  tore  up  my  bed,  chewed 
a  corner  of  my  handkerchief  and  slept  till  eight  o'clock  upon 
the  palatial  ruins  of  my  bed.  ...  I  will  be  wise,  which 
in  the  case  of  a  lover  means  to  be  calm.  It  is  a  new  ad- 
dition to  my  collection  of  pistols,  which  I  began  during  this 
fair.  For  to  pout  and  make  a  row  would  do  me  no  good! 
She  has  phrases  that  stop  one's  mouth,  as  you  know,  and 
make  her  accuser  look  like  a  big  ninny,  when  she  feeds  him 
on  them." 

The  next  day  he  addresses  an  apparently  cheerful  letter 
to  Cornelia  about  wholly  indifferent  things ;  feels,  however, 
forced  to  insert :  "  Like  an  April  day,  it  is  only  a  whim  with 
me  that  I  am  cheerful,  and  I  would  bet  ten  to  one  that 
to-morrow  a  stupid  west  wind  will  blow  up  a  rain."  On 
the  1 6th  he  has  a  stupid  scene  with  Katchen  about  a  stupid 
toothpick.  Then  he  is  pretty  calm  for  a  fortnight.  The 
fair  guests  have  gone  home,  yet  a  new  rival  has  appeared  in 
the  person  of  a  fellow-student  by  the  name  of  Ryden;  but 
Katchen  treats  him  so  badly  that  Goethe  enjoys  the  situa- 
tion. Then  he  is  sobered  down  and  kept  in  his  room  by  a 
fall  from  his  horse,  until  the  week  beginning  November 
8th,  which  brings  a  wound  to  Katchen's  feelings  that  the 
lover  can  never  again  entirely  heal. 


IR'atcbcn  Scbonhopf,  IBcbriscb,  Qcecv      59 

Let  us  listen  to  his  passionate  confessions  to  Behrisch 
concerning  these  days. 

Tuesday,  the  loth  of  November,  he  writes: 

"7  P.M.  Ha!  Behrisch,  here  is  one  of  those  moments. 
You  are  far  away,  and  paper  is  only  a  cold  refuge  when 
compared  with  your  arms.  O  heavens,  heavens!  But  first 
let  me  regain  my  senses.  Behrisch,  love  be  damned!  Oh, 
if  you  could  see  me,  see  me  raving  in  my  misery,  not  know- 
ing whom  to  rave  at,  you  would  wail  and  howl.  Friend! 
friend!     Why  have  I  but  one  friend?" 

"  8  P.M.  My  blood  is  quieted  down.  I  can  now  con- 
verse with  you  more  calmly.  Whether  reasonably  or  not, 
God  only  knows.  No,  not  reasonably.  How  could  a  mad- 
man speak  reason?  I  am  mad.  If  my  hands  were  in 
chains,  I  should  know  what  to  bite.     .     .     . 

"  I  have  made  me  a  pen  to  regain  control  of  myself. 
Let  us  see  if  we  can  get  on.  My  loved  one!  Ah,  she  will 
be  mine  for  ever.  You  see,  Behrisch,  I  feel  it  in  the  very 
moment  when  she  makes  me  furious.  Heavens!  heavens! 
Why  must  I  love  her  so?  Let  us  begin  again.  Annette  is 
making — no,  not  making.  Be  still,  be  still,  I  will  tell  you 
everything  in  order. 

"  On  Sunday,  after  dinner,  I  went  to  see  Doctor  Herrmann 
and  came  back  to  the  Schonkopfs'  at  three.  She  had  gone 
to  the  Obermanns' ;  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  wished 
I  were  also  there,  but  I  knew  of  no  excuse,  and  decided  to 
go  to  the  Breitkopfs'.  I  went,  but  was  not  in  a  peaceful 
frame  of  mind.  Hardly  had  I  been  there  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  when  I  asked  Fraulein  Breitkopf  if  she  had  not  some 
message  for  the  Obermanns  about  Minna  [von  Barnhehn]. 
She  said  no.  I  insisted.  She  said  I  might  stay  there,  and 
I,  that  I  was  going  to  leave.  At  last,  angered  by  my 
requests,  she  wrote  a  note  to  Fraulein  Obermann,  gave  it 
to  me,  and  I  flew  over.  How  happy  I  hoped  to  be!  Woe 
to  her!  She  spoiled  my  pleasure.  I  arrived.  Fraulein 
Obermann  broke  open  the  note;  it  ran  as  follows:  'What 
strange  creatures  men  are!  changeable  without  knowing 
why.     Hardly  is  Herr  Goethe  here,  when  he  gives  me  to 


6o  z\)c  %itc  of  Goetbe 

understand  that  he  cares  more  for  your  society  than  for 
mine.  He  is  forcing  me  to  give  him  some  message  to  you, 
even  if  it  does  not  amount  to  anything.  In  spite  of  my 
anger  at  him  I  am  grateful  to  him  for  giving  me  an  oppor- 
tunity to  tell  you  that  I  am  ever  yours.' 

"After  Fraulein  Obermann  had  read  the  letter,  she 
assured  me  she  did  not  understand  it ;  my  girl  read  it,  and 
instead  of  rewarding  me  for  coming,  and  thanking  me  for 
my  affection,  treated  me  so  coldly  that  Fraulein  Obermann 
and  her  brother  could  not  help  noticing  it.  This  conduct, 
which  she  kept  up  the  entire  evening  and  all  day  Monday, 
gave  me  such  offence,  that  Monday  night  I  fell  into  a  fever, 
which  racked  me  terribly  through  the  night  with  hot  and 
cold,  and  kept  me  at  home  the  whole  day  after — well,  Behr- 
isch,  don't  expect  me  to  tell  it  in  cold  blood.  Heavens! — 
This  evening  I  sent  down-stairs  for  something.  The  maid 
came  back  with  the  news  that  she  had  gone  to  the  play  with 
her  mother.  I  had  just  passed  through  a  chill,  and  at 
this  news  all  my  blood  was  on  fire.  Ha!  at  the  play!  at  a 
time  when  she  knew  that  the  one  she  loved  was  ill.  Heav- 
ens! That  was  terrible;  but  I  forgive  her.  I  did  n't  know 
what  play  it  was.  How  ?  Can  it  be  that  she  is  at  the  play 
with  them?  With  them!  That  made  me  tremble!  I  must 
know. — I  dress  myself  and  run  like  a  madman  to  the 
theatre.  I  take  a  ticket  for  the  gallery.  I  reach  my  seat. 
Ha!  a  new  discomfiture.  My  eyes  are  weak  and  cannot  see 
as  far  as  the  boxes.  I  thought  I  should  lose  my  mind,  was 
going  to  run  home  and  get  my  glass.  A  poor  fellow  who 
was  standing  at  my  side  rescued  me  from  my  confusion.  I 
saw  that  he  had  two.  I  asked  him,  as  politely  as  I  knew 
how,  to  lend  me  one ;  he  did  so.  I  looked  down  and  found 
her  box — O  Behrisch 

"  I  found  her  box.  She  was  sitting  in  the  corner,  beside 
a  little  girl,  God  only  knows  who,  then  Peter,  then  the 
mother. — But  now!  Behind  her  chair  Herr  Ryden,  in  a 
very  affectionate  posture.  Ha!  Fancy  me!  Fancy  me, 
up  in  the  gallery  with  an  opera-glass — seeing  that !  Dam- 
nation!    Oh!  Behrisch,  I  thought  my  head  would  burst  with 


Ikatcben  Scbonfiopf,  Bebriecb,  Qcqcv      6i 

rage.  They  were  playing  Miss  Sarah  [Sampson].  Fraulein 
Schulz  was  in  the  title  role,  but  I  could  not  see  or  hear 
anything.  My  eyes  were  on  that  box,  and  my  heart  was 
palpitating.  Now  he  leaned  forward  so  that  the  little  girl 
who  sat  by  her  could  see  nothing.  Now  he  stepped  back. 
Now  he  leaned  over  the  chair  and  said  something  to  her. 
I  gnashed  my  teeth  and  watched  him.  Tears  came  into 
my  eyes,  but  they  were  caused  by  the  strain  of  looking. 
I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  shed  any  tears  all  evening. — 
Heavens!  heavens!  Why  did  I  have  to  excuse  her  at  that 
moment!  Yes,  I  did  it.  I  saw  how  she  treated  him  quite 
coldly,  turned  away  from  him,  hardly  answered  him,  seemed 
to  be  importuned  by  him.  I  thought  I  saw  it  all.  Ah,  my 
glass  did  not  flatter  me  as  my  soul  did,  I  wished  to  see  it! 
O  heavens!  and  if  I  had  really  seen  it,  love  would  not  have 
been  the  final  cause,  to  which  I  should  have  ascribed  it. 

" — On  with  my  story.  Thus  I  had  sat  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  and  saw  nothing  but  what  I  had  seen  in  the  first 
five  minutes.  Suddenly  the  fever  came  on  me  with  full 
force  and  for  a  moment  I  thought  I  should  die ;  I  gave  the 
glass  to  my  neighbour  and  did  not  stop  to  walk,  I  ran  out 
of  the  house — and  have  now  been  with  you  for  two  hours. 
If  you  know  a  more  unhappy  man  than  me,  with  so  much 
talent,  such  good  prospects,  and  such  advantages,  just 
name  him  and  I  will  keep  silent.  All  evening  I  have  tried 
in  vain  to  weep ;  my  teeth  would  come  together,  and  when 
a  man  gnashes  his  teeth  he  cannot  weep. 

"Another  new  pen.  A  few  more  moments  of  quiet. 
O  my  friend !  Already  the  third  sheet.  I  could  write  you 
a  thousand  without  getting  tired.  ...  I  have  slept  in 
my  chair  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  am  really  very 
weak, 

"  How  shall  I  pass  this  night?  I  dread  it. — I  have  been 
asleep  again ;  I  am  very  weak.  To-morrow  I  shall  go  out 
to  see  her.  Perhaps  her  coldness  toward  me  has  abated. 
If  not,  I  am  sure  I  shall  have  a  double  attack  of  fever  to- 
morrow night.  Let  it  come!  I  am  no  longer  master  of 
myself.     What  was  I  doing  the  other  day,  when  my  horse 


62  Zhe  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

became  unmanageable  and  ran  off?  I  could  not  hold 
him;  I  saw  death,  at  least  a  terrible  fall,  before  my  eyes. 
I  risked  the  danger  and  jumped  off.  Then  I  had  courage. 
Perhaps  I  am  not  the  most  courageous  of  men,  am  only 
born  to  be  courageous  in  danger.  But  I  am  in  danger  now 
and  yet  not  courageous.  Heavens!  Friend,  do  you  know 
what  I  mean?  Good-night.  My  brain  is  all  in  a  muddle. 
Oh,  if  the  sun  were  only  up  again!     .     .     . 

"  Wednesday  morning.  I  have  passed  a  terrible  night,  I 
dreamed  about  Sarah.  O  Behrisch,  I  am  a  little  calmer, 
but  not  much.  I  shall  see  her  to-day.  We  are  to  rehearse 
Minna  [von  Barnhelm]  at  the  Obermanns'  and  she  will  be 
there.  Ha,  if  she  should  continue  to  be  so  cold  to  me,  I 
could  punish  her.  Most  terrible  jealousy  should  torture 
her.     But  no,  no,  I  cannot  do  that. 

''8  P.M.  Yesterday  about  this  time,  how  different  it 
was  from  now!  I  have  re-read  my  letter  and  would  cer- 
tainly tear  it  up,  if  I  could  be  ashamed  of  appearing  before 
you  just  as  I  really  am.  This  violent  longing  and  this 
equally  violent  dreading,  this  raging  and  this  bliss  will  ac- 
quaint you  with  the  young  man  and  you  will  pity  him. 
What  yesterday  made  the  world  a  hell  to  me,  to-day  makes 
it  a  heaven,  and  will  continue  to  do  so,  until  it  can  no 
longer  make  it  either  of  the  two. 

"She  was  at  the  Obermanns'  and  we  were  alone  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  It  takes  no  longer  for  us  to  become 
reconciled.  In  vain  does  Shakespeare  say:  'Frailty,  thy 
name  is  woman,'  the  image  of  frailty  would  more  easily  be 
found  in  a  young  man.  She  saw  wherein  she  was  wrong, 
she  was  touched  by  my  illness,  and  she  fell  upon  my  neck 
and  begged  forgiveness :   I  forgave  her  all. 

"  I  had  the  strength  not  to  tell  her  about  my  foolish 
actions  at  the  play.  'You  see,'  she  said,  'we  were  at  the 
play  yesterday;  you  must  not  be  angry  at  that.  I  had 
moved  my  chair  clear  into  the  corner  of  the  box  and  seated 
Lottchen  beside  me  so  as  to  be  sure  that  he  should  not  sit 
near  me.  He  stood  behind  my  chair  the  whole  time,  but  I 
avoided  talking  with  him  as  much  as  possible.     I  talked 


Ik'atcben  Scbonf^opf,  Bebdecb,  ©eser      63 

with  a  lady  in  the  next  box  and  wished  I  were  over  there 
with  her.'  O  Behrisch,  I  had  persuaded  myself  yesterday 
that  I  had  seen  all  that,  and  now  she  told  me  about  it. 
She!  clinging  to  my  neck.  .  .  .  Good-night,  I  am 
dizzy  as  yesterday,  but  for  another  cause.  My  fever  did 
not  return  to-day;  as  long  as  the  weather  remains  good  it 
will  probably  not  return.     Good-night.     .     ,     . 

"  Annette  sends  you  greetings.  Two  sheets,  now  I 
think  I  should  stop.  Good  heavens,  what  a  lot  of  writing! 
I  have  read  it  over  again,  and  I  believe  it  would  alienate 
you  from  any  stranger,  but  you  will  take  pity  on  your 
friend.  It  is  true  that  I  am  a  big  fool,  but  I  am  also  a 
good  fellow.     Annette  thinks  so;  don't  you,  too?" 

A  week  later  he  reports  to  Behrisch  that  Katchen  is  in 
untold  misery.  The  reconciliation  was  only  temporary. 
Goethe  keeps  pestering  Katchen  every  little  while.  On  the 
4th  of  December:  "  I  am  still  in  a  bad,  very  bad  humour" ; 
on  the  15th  of  December:  "I  will  answer  you,  because  I 
am  in  a  good  humour  and  the  weather  is  nowadays  very 
changeable."  He  is  honest  enough  to  confess:  "All  the 
vexations  that  come  up  between  us  are  my  fault.  She  is 
an  angel  and  I  am  a  fool." 

The  winter  semester  is  at  an  end,  and  his  stay  in  Leipsic 
is  to  last  only  one  more  semester.  His  conscience  bids 
him  more  urgently  than  ever  come  to  a  clear  understand- 
ing with  Katchen. 

In  March,  1768,  he  writes  to  Behrisch:  "Listen,  Behr- 
isch; I  can  never  forsake  the  girl,  I  don't  want  to;  and  yet 
I  must  get  away  from  here,  I  want  to  get  away;  but  she 
shall  not  be  unhappy,  if  she  remains  worthy  of  me,  and  that 
she  now  is!  Behrisch!  she  shall  be  happy.  And  yet  I 
shall  be  so  cruel  as  to  rob  her  of  all  hopes.  That  I  must. 
For  whoever  gives  a  girl  hopes,  makes  promises.  If  she 
can  get  an  upright  husband  and  live  happily  without  me, 
how  glad  I  shall  be!  I  know  my  obligations  to  her;  my 
hand  and  my  means  belong  to  her;  she  shall  have  every- 
thing that  I  can  give  her.  Curses  upon  the  man  who 
marries  before  the  girl  is  married  that  he  has  made  wretched ! 


64  Zl)c  %\tc  Of  (Boetbe 

She  shall  never  feel  the  pain  of  seeing  me  in  the  arms  of 
another  before  I  have  felt  the  pain  of  seeing  her  in  another's 
arms,  and  perhaps  even  then  I  shall  spare  her  this  terrible 
feeling."  The  explanation,  for  which  Katchen's  reserve 
has  meanwhile  prepared  the  way,  is  finally  made  in  April. 
On  the  twenty-sixth  of  the  month  he  writes  to  Behrisch: 
"Oh,  that  I  could  tell  you  everything!  I  cannot,  it  would 
cost  me  too  much  of  a  struggle.  Be  it  enough  for  you  to 
know  that  Nette  and  I  have  parted,  and  we  are  happy.  It 
was  hard  work,  but  now  I  sit  here,  like  Hercules  who  has 
finished  all  his  tasks,  and  survey  the  glorious  booty.  It 
was  a  terrible  time  before  the  explanation,  but  the  ex- 
planation came,  and  now — now  I  know  for  the  first  time 
what  life  is.  She  is  the  best,  most  amiable  girl. — Behrisch, 
we  are  living  on  the  most  pleasant  and  most  friendly 
terms,  just  as  you  and  she  do.  No  more  confidential  con- 
versations, not  a  word  of  love  any  more,  and  so  pleased, 
so  happy:   Behrisch,  she  is  an  angel." 

The  warm  friendly  relationship  is  kept  up  even  after 
Goethe's  departure  from  Leipsic.  Not  until  Katchen  is 
betrothed  to  Doctor  Kanne,  in  May,  1769,  does  it  begin 
gradually  to  cease. 

About  the  same  time  that  Goethe  entered  the  Schonkopf 
house  he  became  acquainted  with  the  man  to  whom  he 
confided  by  word  of  mouth  and  by  letter  the  joys  and 
sorrows  of  his  love,  Ernst  Wolfgang  Behrisch.  Until  his 
sojourn  in  Italy,  Goethe  was  always  in  need  of  such  an 
older  friend  to  whom  he  could  confess — Behrisch  was 
eleven  years  his  senior.  The  many  violent  storms  of  his 
emotional  life  made  him  long  for  a  sympathetic  soul  who 
could  pour  oil  upon  the  troubled  waters,  and  whose  cool, 
clear  reasoning  could  pilot  him  safely  between  the  Scylla 
and  Charybdis  of  his  vague  desires  and  passionate  emotions. 
In  Leispic  it  was  Behrisch,  later  Salzmann,  then  Merck, 
and  at  last  Frau  von  Stein. 

Behrisch,  who  had  come  to  Leipsic  as  tutor  to  the  twelve- 
year-old  Count  of  Lindenau,  and  had  taken  lodgings  in 
Auerbachs  Hof,  not  far  from  Goethe's  rooms,  was  one  of 


Ikatcben  Scbonl^opf,  »ebri0Cb,  Qcecv      65 

the  oddest  creatures  imaginable.  His  very  appearance  was 
strange  enough:  he  was  spare,  but  well  built,  had  marked 
features,  especially  a  large  nose,  wore  a  wig  from  morning 
till  night,  dressed  himself  very  neatly  but  always  in  gray, 
of  which  colour  he  sought  an  infinite  number  of  shades, 
and  whemout  walking  always  wore  knee  breeches  and  low 
shoes,  a  (zagger  at  his  side,  and  his  hat  under  his  arm,  pre- 
senting a  perfect  type  of  the  rococo  gallant.  With  this 
/subserviency  to  fashion  and  the  solemn  demeanour  which  he 
'affected  was  doubly  contrasted  his  waggish,  critical  nature, 
which  joined  issue  with  anybody  and  everybody.  But  as 
he  did  it  cleverly  and  was  not  sparing  of  himself,  he  was  an 
inexhaustible  source  of  entertainment  to  his  friends.  With 
his  merry  satire  he  was  more  powerful  than  Frau  Bohme 
and  Morus  in  undermining  Goethe's  faith  in  the  contempor- 
ary poets,  showing,  however,  more  consideration  for  his 
friend's  own  products,  and  permitting  him  to  continue  his 
poetic  attempts  on  condition  he  should  not  publish  any- 
thing. He  promised  in  return  to  copy  the  poems  finely  and 
neatly  for  Goethe,  which  would  be  a  greater  honour  than  if 
they  were  printed.  He  kept  his  promise  faithfully,  though 
it  cost  him  great  pains.  By  his  criticism  he  strengthened 
Goethe's  aversion  to  the  empty,  laboured  style,  and  his 
inclination  to  the  natural  and  true.  He  must,  therefore, 
have  taken  true  delight  in  a  lampoon,  in  which  his  young 
friend  had  made  the  stilted  pathos  of  Professor  Clodius  the 
target  of  his  wit.  Goethe  had  veiled  his  satire  in  a  laudatory 
poem  on  the  pastry-cook,  Handel,  and  had  written  it  on  a 
wall  in  Handel's  house  that  was  covered  with  inscriptions. 
Some  time  later,  when  Clodius's  vapid  drama,  Medon,  was 
received  with  great  applause,  Horn  added  a  few  verses  to 
the  poem,  making  it  refer  to  the  drama,  and  put  it  into 
circulation  in  this  form.  Soon  everybody  knew  it,  and  it 
was  also  known  what  clique  had  produced  it,  and  the 
well-bred  society  of  Leipsic  was  not  a  little  indignant  at  the 
originators  of  such  an  infamous  libel.  The  feeling  of  in- 
dignation extended  to  Dresden,  and  soon  reached  the  ears 
of  Count  Lindenau's  father,  who  was  greatly  disturbed  to 

VOL.    I.— 5, 


66  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

see  his  son's  tutor  involved  in  such  an  offensive  affair. 
There  were  other  good  reasons  for  being  dissatisfied  with 
him.  He  associated  with  girls  who,  if  we  may  believe 
Goethe's  assurances,  were  indeed  better  than  their  reputa- 
tion, but  whose  manners  were,  to  say  the  least,  a  trifle  too 
complaisant.  He  drew  his  friends  into  these  associations 
and,  as  a  shrewd  man  of  the  world,  assumed  the  direction 
of  the  coterie.  So  his  circle  could  not  fail  to  fall  into  a 
certain  ill  repute,  and  it  was  noticed  with  displeasure  that, 
even  on  his  walks  with  the  young  Count,  he  was  surrounded 
by  the  frivolous  characters ;  in  fact,  he  even  took  his  pupil 
into  the  garden  of  these  affable  beauties.  This  was  all 
whispered  to  the  Count's  father  by  Leipsic  gossips,  with  the 
usual  exaggerations,  no  doubt,  and  in  October,  1767,  cost 
Behrisch  his  position.  Yet  it  was  no  loss  to  him;  for  his 
excellent  qualifications  procured  for  him  a  more  agreeable 
appointment  at  the  Court  of  Dessau.  But  the  loss  of  this 
beloved  Mentor  caused  Goethe  the  greatest  sorrow  and 
anger.  He  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  some  bitter  odes 
directed  to  Behrisch.     In  the  second  we  read : 

©^rlid^er  ^Jtarm, 
%[k))t  biefcei  fianb ! 

2;otc  ©iimpfc, 
■£)ampfcnbc  Dftobcrticbcl 
S^crrocben  i^rc  5luj^tluffe 
§icr  ungertrcnnlic^. 

©cbarort 

(Scf)nblicl)er  Snfcften, 
■i)}?orbcr{)6l)lc 
3l)rcr  S3o«l)eit! 

9Im  [d)i(fi(itcn  Ufcr 
i^icc^t  bic  mollitftiflc, 
f^lnmmciinc.^nnfltc  Sct)lanflc, 
©cftrcid)cU  uom  8onncn[tra^I. 


Mtcben  Scbonl^opf,  Bcbriscb,  Ocecv      67 

5*licl)c  [anftc  9?arf)tnani]c 
3n  bcr  Wonbcnbdmmcnuig! 
®ort  l)altcn  jiicfcubc  -ftrotcn 
3ii[ammcnfi'inftc  auf  itrciigroegcn.* 

The  loss  of  Behrisch  meant  much  to  Goethe.  His  fits 
of  passion  became  more  frequent  and  more  violent,  and  his 
arbitrary  moods  were  offensive  not  only  to  Katchen  but  to 
others  of  his  friends. 

While  the  alienation  of  his  friends  and  those  he  loved 
was  wholly  unintentional  and  due  to  sudden  outbursts  of 
anger,  his  withdrawal  from  the  society  of  professors  was 
voluntary  and  premeditated.  For  they  were  gradually  be- 
coming as  much  of  a  bore  to  him  as  their  lectures.  If  he 
went  to  call  on  Gellert,  for  example,  he  was  asked  in  a 
whining  voice  whether  he  was  regular  in  attendance  at 
church,  who  was  his  confessor,  and  whether  he  had  par- 
taken of  the  Lord's  Supper.  But,  as  it  happened,  that  was 
just  the  time  when  Wolfgang  was  endeavouring  to  rid  him- 
self of  all  church  affiliations,  and  he  made,  accordingly,  a 
very  poor  showing  in  the  examination.  The  lamentations 
of  the  old  man  at  his  departure  made  it  seem  better  never 
to  return. 

*  Honourable  man, 
Flee  from  such  a  land! 

Bogs  decaying, 
Reeking  October  vapours, 
Inseparably  commingle 
Their  outlets  here. 

Hatchery 

Of  noisome  insects, 

Villains'  den 

Of  their  maHce! 

In  reeds  by  the  river 

Lies  the  insatiate 

Dragon  with  tongue  of  fire, 

And  basks  in  the  warmth  of  the  sun. 

Stroll  not  forth  at  evening 
In  the  dim  light  of  the  moon! 
When  twitching  toads  are  holding 
Their  concourse  out  at  the  crossways. 


68  Zl)c  Xlfe  of  Ooetbe 

His  associations  with  Professor  Bohme,  which  had  at  one 
time  been  so  valuable  to  him,  ceased  with  Frau  Bohme 's 
death  in  February,  1767.  He  wrote  a  most  cordial  letter 
to  Cornelia  in  her  honour,  saying  that  she  had  cared  for  him 
with  a  mother's  zeal,  and  confessing  that  he  had  always 
gladly  heeded  her  counsel,  and  that  he  had  never  given  her 
offence  save  by  his  hatred  of  cards.  But  from  the  very 
beginning  he  had  felt  no  real  interest  in  her  husband,  and 
now  that  the  tender  bond  between  him  and  the  professor's 
wife  was  broken,  and  Goethe  was  afraid  of  being  scolded  for 
not  attending  lectures,  he  began  to  avoid  this  house  as  well. 

Beside  the  Schonkopfs,  he  kept  up  his  intercourse  with 
only  four  families:  the  Breitkopfs,  the  Obermanns,  the 
Oesers,  and  the  Stocks.  The  head  of  the  Breitkopf  family, 
who  lived  in  the  Silver  Bear  in  the  Universitatsstrasse,  was 
the  proprietor  of  the  famous  publishing  house.  He  had 
invented  the  printing  of  music  from  movable  types,  was 
thoroughly  educated,  a  lover  of  art,  and  a  collector  of 
curios.  His  two  sons,  Bemhard  and  Gottlob,  who  were 
students  at  the  university  while  Goethe  was  there,  were 
distinguished  for  their  musical  talent;  and  the  older  one 
composed,  among  other  things,  the  music  to  Goethe's  first 
published  collection  of  lyrics,  usually  called  the  Leipziger 
Liederbuch.  They  had  two  sisters — Constanze,  to  whom 
Horn  was  paying  court,  and  Wilhelmine,  The  Breitkopfs 
entertained  frequently  with  music  and  theatricals.  On 
intimate  terms  with  them  were  the  Obermanns,  who  lived 
nearly  opposite  the  Schonkopfs,  and  who  also  had  two 
daughters  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  one  of  whom  played  with 
Goethe  in  Lessing's  Minna  [von  Barnhelm],  which  was  given 
several  times  at  the  Obermanns'  in  the  winter  of  1767- 
1768.     Goethe  appeared  in  the  role  of  the  sergeant-major. 

In  an  attic  apartment  in  the  Silver  Bear  lived  Engraver 
Stock,  who  did  a  great  deal  of  work  for  the  Breitkopf  firm, 
a  good,  industrious  man  and,  although  in  straitened 
circumstances,  always  in  the  best  of  humour.  Goethe 
learned  etching  of  him  and  under  his  guidance  executed 
several  landscapes,  two  of  which,  according  to  Thiele — one 


Ikatcben  Scbdnkopf,  Bebrlscb,  Qcecv      69 

dedicated  to  his  father,  the  other  to  Assessor  Herrmann — 
may  still  be  seen  in  Goethe's  house  in  Weimar,  while  the 
original  plates  are  kept  in  the  Leipsic  city  library.  He 
also  learned  wood-engraving  of  this  modest  artist,  and 
among  other  things  made  cuts  for  Schonkopf's  labels. 
Stock  had  married  young,  and  his  two  daughters,  who 
became  very  well  known  later — Minna,  as  the  wife  of 
Gottfried  Komer,  and  Dora  as  the  betrothed  of  the  writer 
Huber — were  only  five  and  seven  years  of  age.  Goethe 
was  a  frequent  visitor,  and  was  cordially  received  by  the 
little  family  of  the  artist.  A  charming  scene  from  these 
intimate  associations  has  been  handed  down  to  us  by 
Friedrich  Forster  in  the  words  of  Frau  Komer.  A  wrinkled 
master  of  arts  gave  the  children  daily  lessons.  As  all 
were  confined  to  one  room,  Goethe  frequently  heard  the 
instruction.  "Now  it  happened  one  day  that  we  had  to 
read  aloud  from  a  chapter  of  Esther,  which  seemed  to  him 
unsuitable  for  young  girls.  Goethe  had  hstened  quietly 
for  a  time ;  suddenly  he  sprang  up  from  my  father's  work- 
table,  snatched  the  Bible  from  my  hand  and  called  out  to  the 
tutor  with  furious  voice :  '  Sir,  how  can  you  let  these  little 
girls  read  such  stories ! '  The  master  trembled  and  quaked ; 
for  Goethe  continued  his  lecture  with  more  and  more 
severity,  till  mother  stepped  between  them  and  sought  to 
pacify  him.  The  master  stammered  something  about  God's 
word  being  all  plain,  at  which  Goethe  quoted  to  him: 
'Prove  all  things;  hold  fast  that  which  is  good.'  Then 
he  opened  the  New  Testament,  turned  over  the  leaves  for 
a  moment,  until  he  had  found  what  he  was  looking  for. 
'Here,  Dorchen,'  he  said  to  my  sister,  'read  this  to  us. 
This  is  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount;  we  will  all  Hsten  to  you.' 
As  Dorchen  stammered  and  was  too  frightened  to  read, 
Goethe  took  the  Bible  from  her  and  read  us  the  whole 
chapter,  adding  some  very  edifying  remarks,  such  as  we 
had  never  heard  from  our  tutor."  As  a  reward  for  such  a 
service  of  love  he  very  readily  allowed  Frau  Stock  to  comb 
his  tangled  hair,  which  hung  down  in  heavy  brown  locks. 
Far  more  important   than  all  the  associations  above 


70  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

mentioned  was  that  with  Friedrich  Oeser,  director  of  the 
Academy  of  Painting,  which  was  at  that  time  located  in  the 
Pleissenburg.  Goethe  took  instruction  iinder  him  in  order 
to  perfect  himself  in  drawing  and  painting.  What  he 
really  received,  however,  was  more  than  mere  help  in 
technique.  Oeser  was  not  a  very  talented  artist,  but  he 
had  a  fine,  and,  for  his  time,  very  exceptional,  appre- 
ciation of  art.  It  was  probably  he  from  whom  Winckel- 
mann  first  learned  the  secret  of  the  Greek  idea  of  beauty, 
and  so  of  all  beauty,  as  was  long  thought,  viz.,  "noble 
simplicity  and  quiet  greatness."  This  ideal,  which  had  the 
effect  of  a  purging  bath  upon  the  rococo,  was  the  constant 
theme  of  Oeser's  theoretical  teaching,  and,  although  he 
could  not  rid  himself  of  the  prevailing  mannerism,  yet  he 
turned  Goethe  away  from  the  shallowness  and  unnatural- 
ness  of  the  rococo  to  a  pure  and  deep  conception  of  things. 
Goethe  acknowledged  this  extraordinary  service  of  Oeser's 
in  profound  gratitude.  After  returning  to  Frankfort  he 
writes  to  his  teacher:  "  How  greatly  I  am  indebted  to  you, 
dearest  professor,  that  you  have  shown  me  the  way  to  the 
true  and  the  beautiful!  .  .  .  My  love  of  the  beautiful, 
my  knowledge,  my  insight,  did  I  not  get  them  all  from  you? 
What  a  certainty,  what  a  shining  truth  the  strange  and 
almost  incomprehensible  statement  has  proven  to  be,  that 
the  studio  of  a  great  artist  is  a  better  place  to  develop  a 
budding  philosopher  or  a  budding  poet  than  the  lecture- 
room  of  a  philosopher  or  a  critic! "  And  to  Oeser's  amiable 
and  clever  daughter  Friederike,  whom  he  met  at  her  father's 
apartments  in  the  Pleissenburg,  and  at  their  country  home 
in  Dolitz,  and  to  whom  he  liked  to  go  whenever  he  felt  blue, 
to  be  cheered  by  her  optimistic  philosophy,  he  writes:  "A 
great  scholar  ...  is  likely  to  despise  the  simple  book 
of  nature,  and  yet  nothing  is  true  that  is  not  simple.  Who- 
ever follows  the  simple  path,  let  him  go  on  his  way  in 
silence.  ...  I  thank  your  dear  father  for  it;  he  first 
prepared  my  soul  for  this  style." 

Oeser  also  made  accessible   to   him   the   cabinets  and 
portfoHos  of  the  Leipsic  lovers  of  art,  Huber,  Kreuchauf, 


Ikatcben  Scbonkopf,  ©ebriscb,  ©eser      71 

Winkler,  and  Richter,  and  in  this  way  not  only  widened 
his  horizon,  but  also  developed  in  him  a  feeling  for  the  con- 
ditionality  of  works  of  art.  As  his  thoughts  had  been 
strongly  deflected  in  another  direction  by  Lessing's  Laokoon, 
which  had  appeared  shortly  before,  it  was  natural  that  the 
desire  should  arise  in  him  to  test  and  further  train  his  eye 
and  his  insight  by  the  study  of  the  rich  art  treasures  of 
Dresden.  Early  in  March,  1768,  he  made  a  pilgrimage  to 
the  Saxon  capital,  and  in  order  to  be  iinder  no  restraint, 
and  at  the  same  time  mindful  of  his  father's  warning  to 
avoid  the  robbery  of  hotels,  he  engaged  lodgings  at  the 
house  of  a  cobbler,  a  relative  of  the  theological  student 
Limprecht,  who  occupied  the  room  next  to  his  in  Leipsic. 
The  honest  cobbler,  a  practical  philosopher,  fond  of  work 
and  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  narrow  circumstances, 
afforded  the  student  the  greatest  amusement  with  his 
original,  witty,  and  ready  speech,  and  as  Goethe  tried  to 
assume  the  same  manner  toward  the  cheerful  philosopher, 
he  engaged  in  his  turn  the  good  will  of  his  landlord.  While 
he  was  happy  over  his  choice  of  lodgings,  in  spite  of  their 
modesty  and  simplicity,  the  picture  gallery,  the  chief  aim 
of  his  journey,  surpassed  all  his  expectations.  Even  the 
splendour  and  purity  of  the  architecture,  the  shining 
floors,  the  dazzling  frames,  the  solemn  stillness  over  all, 
inspired  him  with  wonder  and  reverence.  But  above 
everything  else  the  paintings.  He  could  not  look  at  them 
enough,  and  took  advantage  of  every  available  hour  to  lose 
himself  in  their  contemplation.  The  Dutch  paintings  es- 
pecially captivated  him.  He  was  prepared  for  them  by 
his  art  studies  at  home  and  in  Leipsic,  and  they  satisfied  his 
longing  for  nature  and  the  real.  Upon  the  Italians, 2^  on 
the  other  hand,  for  whom  he  had  as  yet  no  real  standard  of 
judgment,  he  bestowed  only  passing  attention,  accepting 
their  value  more  from  his  confidence  in  others  than  from 
his  own  conviction.  He  was  presented  by  another  visitor 
to  the  director-general  of  the  gallery,  Herr  von  Hagedorn, 
who  showed  him  his  private  collections,  and  heartily  en- 
joyed the  enthusiasm  of  the  young  lover  of  art. 


72  ^be  Xife  of  ^octbe 

Goethe  did  not  examine  the  antique  art  at  Dresden, 
because,  he  says,  he  felt  his  inabiUty  to  master  even  the 
picture  gallery.  Another  reason  may  have  been  the  bad 
way  in  which  the  works  were  displayed  in  the  pavilions  and 
sheds  of  the  park  (Grosser  Garten) ,  which  made  a  real  study 
of  them  scarcely  possible.  For  in  Dresden  at  that  time 
antiquities  were  valued  only  as  aristocratic  garden  decora- 
tions. After  a  sojourn  of  twelve  days,  Goethe  departed 
from  Dresden — "glorious  Dresden" — richly  laden  with 
knowledge  of  art  history  and  esthetics. 


VI 

LITERARY   INFLUENCES   AND   POETIC    CREATIONS 

Literary  poverty  of  the  age — Influence  of  Lessing — Wieland — Shake- 
speare— Other  studies — Fertility — Die  Laune  des  Verliebten — Die 
Mitschuldigen — Aversion  to  tragedy — Annette — Neue  Lieder — 
Traditional  style — Occasional  poems — Improvement  in  style — 
Illness — Kindness  of  friends. 

THE  last  semester  opened.  Goethe's  attendance  at 
lectures  showed  no  improvement.  The  first  and 
real  purpose  of  university  study  he  had  missed. 
And  yet,  when  looking  back  over  his  years  in  Leipsic,  he  had 
reason  to  be  very  well  satisfied.  Although  he  was  notice- 
ably absent  from  lectures  and  not  only  sipped  but  drank 
deep  of  the  cup  of  Hfe's  joys,  yet  he  did  not  squander  his 
days  in  idle  pleasure.  Nominally  he  was  still  a  student  of 
law,  but  actually  he  devoted  all  his  hours  of  study  to  the 
whole  wide  realm  of  fine  arts  and  belles-lettres.  Whatever 
came  to  him  in  this  way  he  received  with  keen  delight.  No 
matter  how  arduous  the  labor  of  acquisition,  no  matter 
how  much  study,  practice,  or  reading  was  involved,  his  zeal 
never  flagged. 

We  have  already  indicated  how  earnestly  he  sought  to 
attain  knowledge  and  proficiency,  judgment  and  taste,  in  the 
field  of  the  fine  arts.  Of  more  importance  here  are  his 
literary  studies,  to  which  we  shall  now  turn  our  attenion. 

In  his  autobiography  Goethe  never  wearies  of  describing 
the  literary  poverty  of  the  age  in  which  his  youth  fell.  Now 
he  calls  it  watery,  prolix,  inane;  again  he  speaks  of  Gott- 
sched's  watery  waste,  which  almost  submerged  everything; 
again,  of  the  barren  imitation  of  the  shallow  and  the  watery, 

73 


74  Zbc  %itc  of  (Boetbe 

from  which  scarcely  an  idea  has  survived;  again,  of  the 
watery  flood  about  the  German  Parnassus,  most  perfectly 
typified  in  Bodmer's  Noachide.  Wherever  he  turned 
his  eyes,  water,  water,  nothing  but  water.  But  wherever 
the  water  had  subsided,  he  beheld  before  him  the  broad, 
flat  plain,  here  and  there  covered  over  with  a  neat,  trim 
little  garden,  while  his  heart  longed  for  towering  mountains, 
friendly  valleys,  and  dark  forests. 

Goethe,  who,  with  the  instinct  of  a  great  genius,  felt  a 
yearning  for  mighty  men  of  innate  originaHty  of  thought, 
feeling,  and  action,  foimd  everywhere  nothing  but  prosaic, 
timorous,  pedantic  PhiHstines,  or,  where  there  had  been  a 
departure  from  reality,  sentimental  and  prudish  shep- 
herdesses, who  led  their  lambs  about  by  a  pink  ribbon  while 
their  languishing  shepherds  in  gorgeous  array  discoursed 
sweet  music  on  the  flute.  The  Dresden  china  of  those  days 
gives  a  general  idea  of  the  taste  of  the  period.  For  china  it 
may  have  been  tolerable,  but  for  poetry  it  was  outrageous. 

Few  indeed  were  those  who  could  offer  the  growing 
giant  anything  better.  Lessing  appealed  strongly  to  his 
reason.  On  the  threshold  of  old  age  Goethe  spoke  with  the 
greatest  enthusiasm  of  the  benefit  he  had  received  from 
Lessing's  writings  diiring  his  student  days.  He  compares 
Laokoon  with  a  ray  of  light  which  descended  upon  him 
through  dark  clouds.  "From  the  region  of  limited  ob- 
servation he  transported  us  to  the  free  fields  of  thought. 
The  dogma,  '  Ut  pictura  poesis,' *  so  long  misunderstood, 
was  done  away  with;  the  distinction  between  sculpture 
and  painting  on  the  one  hand,  and  poetry  on  the  other, 
was  made  clear,  and  the  branches  of  both  now  appeared 
divergent,  no  matter  how  close  together  lay  their  roots. 
The  sculptor  and  the  painter  should  keep  within  the  bounds 
of  the  beautiful,  even  if  the  poet,  who  must  make  use  of 
everything  of  importance,  is  at  liberty  to  transgress  them. 
The  sculptor  and  the  painter  appeal  to  the  outer  sense, 
which  is  satisfied  only  by  the  beautiful;  the  poet  to  the 


♦The  reference  is  to  Horace,  Ars  Poetica,  361:  *' Ut  pictura  poesis: 
erit  quae,  si  propius  stes,  te  capiat  magis,"  etc. — C. 


Lessing 
(From  Konnecke's  Bilderatlas) 


Xitcrar^  Unfluencee  anb  poetic  Creations    js 

imagination,  which  is  able  to  endure  the  ugly.  We  saw  all 
the  consequences  of  this  great  idea  illuminated  as  it  were 
by  a  sudden  flash  of  lightning,  and  all  the  descriptions  and 
opinions  of  previous  criticism  were  cast  aside  like  a  wornout 
garment." 

Farther  on  Goethe  again  praises  the  supreme  force  of 
these  fundamental,  comprehensive  ideas,  which  bore  such 
abundant  fruit  in  the  impressionable  minds  of  Lessing's 
contemporaries . 

Hence  there  is  no  room  to  doubt  that  Goethe  felt  his 
intellectual  development  extraordinarily  advanced  by  Lao- 
koon.  But  the  result  cannot  have  come  from  those 
sentences  which  Goethe  especially  emphasises  in  this  con-  • 
nection.  For  that  the  sculptor  and  the  painter  must  keep 
within  the  bounds  of  the  beautiful,  by  which  Lessing 
meant  ideal  beauty  of  form,  is  a  principle  which  Lessing, 
under  the  spell  of  Grecian  ideals,  vigorously  defends;  but 
it  is  not  one  of  his  fundamental  principles,  nor  does  it 
necessarily  follow  from  them.  Least  of  all  can  Goethe  have 
approved  of  the  feeling  which  led  Lessing  to  look  askance 
upon  the  paintings  of  the  Dutch  school  and  relegate  land- 
scape and  portraiture,  as  inferior  imitations,  to  the  second 
rank.  For  it  would  bring  his  entliusiasm  for  the  Dutch, 
his  indifference  toward  the  Italians,  his  deep  interest  in 
landscape  and  portrait,  and  his  then  ideal  of  beauty, ^^  in 
no  wise  comprehended  by  harmonious  line,  into  irreconcil- 
able contradiction.  We  may  rather  suppose  that  young 
Goethe  saw  wherein  Lessing's  idea  of  beauty  was  lacking. 
He  was,  however,  carried  away  by  the  masterly  clearness 
with  which  Lessing  made  the  distinction  between  poetry 
and  painting,  and  dispelled  the  harmful  confusion  brought 
about  by  the  theory  that  the  two  were  on  an  equality. 
The  chief  fundamental  teachings,  that  the  two  arts  are  com- 
pelled by  their  difference  in  resources  to  represent  different 
things  and  in  different  ways,  that  painting  is  limited  to 
form  and  poetry  to  action,  and  that  painting  can  only  sug- 
gest action  through  form,  while  poetry  can  only  suggest 
form  through  action — these  fundamental  teachings  must 


76  ZTbe  %itc  of  (Boetbe 

have  been,  to  the  youthful  Goethe  trying  to  grope  his  way 
out  of  the  prevailing  darkness,  a  flash  of  lightning  dis- 
pelling the  gloom  and  reveaHng  the  obstacles  that  had 
blocked  his  path.  These  new  ideas  had  brought  con- 
demnation on  two  things  simultaneously:  in  literature, 
descriptive  poetry,  which  claimed  so  many  victims  at  that 
time;  in  painting,  allegorising,  in  which  the  age,  with 
Oeser  in  the  lead,  was  revelling,  and  which  Winckelmann 
had  declared  to  be  the  highest  mission  of  modem  art.  Fur- 
thermore, the  theory  of  the  suggestive  moment  in  painting, 
and  of  the  representation  of  physical  beauty  in  poetry,  the 
keen  insight  into  Homeric  art,  and  many  other  clever  de- 
tails, as  well  as  the  terse  style,  unique  in  German  literature, 
and  yet  so  brilliant  and  dramatic,  must  have  contributed  to 
the  young  man's  enthusiasm. 

Goethe  makes  no  express  mention  of  Lessing's  other 
great  critical  work,  the  Hamburgische  Dramaturgie,^^  the 
greater  part  of  which  had  appeared  before  April,  1768. 
And  yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  while  a  student  he  read 
it,  and  drew  from  it  a  large  measure  of  information  and  en- 
joyment. The  struggle  against  unnaturalness,  against  stiff 
regularity,  against  flatness,  triviality,  and  mawkish  senti- 
mentality, the  appreciation  of  the  peculiarly  national 
(Hanswurst),  the  defence  of  the  sovereignty  of  genius,  the 
constant  reference  to  Shakespeare  as  the  incomparable 
model,  all  of  this  must  have  impressed  the  young  man 
deeply  and  added  to  his  instinctive  sympathy  with  these 
views  the  light  of  clear  knowledge. 

The  Liter aturhriefe,  too,  may  have  first  come  to  Goethe's 
knowledge  at  this  time,  and  Lessing's  bold  statement  that 
there  were  scenes  in  the  despised  folk-book  of  Doctor  Faust 
worthy  of  a  Shakespeare  doubtless  found  an  echo  in  his 
mind.  Indeed  it  may  be  that  this  opinion  opened  his  eyes 
for  the  first  time  to  the  depth  and  dramatic  possibilities  of 
the  material.  Beside  Lessing's  critical  works  there  was  a 
poetical  production,  which  Goethe  greeted  with  great  joy, 
Minna  von  Barnhelm.  Even  if  the  young  student  probably 
did  not  as  yet  grasp  with  the  clear  consciousness  of  the 


Xltcrar^  Unflucnces  anb  poetic  dreatlone    n 

mature  man  the  value  of  Minna  as  the  first  drama  drawn 
from  significant  life,  yet  he  certainly  did  feel  keenly  that  in 
it  the  nation  received  a  dramatic  gift  far  overtowering  all 
others.  For  it  was  the  exposition  of  this  drama  which  he 
studied  in  order  to  get  useful  guidance  for  Die  Mitschuldigen. 
It  was  perhaps  also  at  his  suggestion  that  the  excellent  piece 
was  performed  on  the  stage  of  the  Breitkopf-Obermann 
family  theatre  so  soon  after  its  publication. 

It  is  no  contradiction  to  this  broad  and  profoimd  in- 
fluence  of  Lessing  when  Goethe  in  a  letter  to  the  Leipsic  ^ 
bookseller,  Reich  (February  20,  1770),  mentions  only 
Oeser,  Shakespeare,  and  Wieland  as  his  real  teachers. 
The  additional  remark:  "  Others  had  shown  me  my  short- 
comings, these  showed  me  how  to  overcome  them,"  makes 
the  statement  comprehensible.  Lessing' s  critical  works 
had  clarified  and  enlarged  his  vision,  showing  him  his  own 
shortcomings,  but  the  poetical  writings  which  were  to  show 
him  the  way  of  overcoming  them  w^ere  for  him  inimitable. 
From  Lessing's  lucid  clearness,  epigrammatic  style,  and 
sharp  delineation  he  was  separated  by  an  impassable  chasm. 
For  him  beauty  lay  in  the  mysterious  blending  of  the 
finite  and  the  infinite,  in  exuberance  of  life,  in  saturated 
colour.  So  he  may  well  have  felt  capable  of  attaining  the 
cheerful  ease,  the  pleasing  gracefulness  of  Wieland  and  the 
daring,  passionate  depth  of  Shakespeare;  but  Lessing's 
poetry  lay  in  a  world  to  which  at  the  outset  he  must  have 
thought  it  vain  to  seek  to  find  a  way. 

"Of  all  writers  Wieland  possessed  the  most  beautiful 
nature,"  says  Goethe  in  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit.  This 
show^s  that  he  considered  Wieland's  nature  most  closely 
akin  to  his  own.  Otherwise  we  should  find  it  difficult  to 
explain  the  admiration  which  the  growing  young  man  had 
for  him.  For  much  as  Wieland  towered  like  a  stately 
mountain  above  the  watery  waste  of  Gottsched,  Gellert, 
and  Weisse,  and  much  as  Goethe  must  have  appreciated 
his  advance  beyond  them  in  style,  in  characterisation,  and 
in  the  deepening  of  motives,  none  the  less  such  weaknesses 
as  the  garrulity,  the  effeminacy,  the  lack  of  seriousness,  the 


78  tTbe  Xlfe  of  (Boctbe 

critical  digressions,  the  prolix  discussions  of  superficialities, 
which  characterise  Wieland's  writings  from  1764  to  1768, 
cannot  have  escaped  the  eye  of  the  youth  who  had  enjoyed 
Lessing  and  Shakespeare.  But  young  Goethe  was  indebted 
to  the  graceful  poet  and  conversationalist  for  his  free,  facile, 
man-of-the-world  spirit,  peculiar  to  the  Suabian  poet  and  so 
rare  in  native  writers,  for  his  enjoyment  of  sensuous  delights, 
and  for  his  attempt  to  give  this  element  of  life  pleasing 
poetical  expression,  that  harmonised  the  sensuous  and  the 
spiritual.  If  Goethe  in  his  old  age  lays  special  emphasis  on 
the  effect  of  Musaricni  upon  him,  and  attributes  it  to  his 
belief  that  in  it  he  saw  antiquity  living  and  breathing  again, 
this  circumstance  may  have  contributed  to  his  enthusiasm ; 
but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  his  impression  was  deepened 
by  the  fact  that  he,  a  moody  lover,  saw  his  relation  to 
Katchen  reflected  with  striking  resemblance  in  the  relation 
between  Phanias  and  the  heroine  in  the  first  book  of 
Musarion.  Shortly  after  his  Leipsic  period  Goethe  became 
a  severe  critic  of  Wieland's  art,  but  he  built  upon  its  beau- 
tiful peculiarities  nevertheless,  and  Wilhelm  Meister  and 
Romische  Elegien  were  erected  upon  this  foundation. 

J  Beside  Lessing  and  Wieland  there  remains  only  Klop- 
stock  who  might  have  exerted  a  determining  influence  upon 
Goethe.  But  Klopstock's  era  was  past.  He  had  filled  the 
boy  with  enthusiasm,  but  was  unable  to  hold  the  young 
man  under  his  spell  except  in  matters  of  language  and 
rhythm.*  Klopstock's  seraphic  tendency  was  paralysed 
by  Wieland's  trivial  muse,  while  his  patriotic  vein  had  be- 
come odious  to  our  student  because  of  the  bardic  blare  of  his 
imitators.  The  war  songs  of  Gleim  and  Ramler  were  more 
to  his  liking,  because  they  had  sprung  from  deeds  and  had 
the  true  inward  ring.     The  plays  of  the  Leipsic  district-tax- 

\  *  Weriher  and  the  poems  of  the  Wetzlar  period  show  the  strong 
influence  of  Klopstock's  poetic  thought  and  feeling.  Cf.  Lyon,  Goethes 
Verhdltnis  zu  Klopstock  (Leipsic  diss).  The  influence  as  seen  in  the 
lyrics  is  clearly  pointed  out  by  Goebel  in  the  commentary  of  his  selections 
from  Goethe's  Poems,  a  work  to  which  I  feel  I  ought  to  refer,  inasmuch  as 
Bielschowsky  said  that  no  man  since  Loeper  had  shown  as  deep  an  under- 
standing of  Goethe's  lyrics  as  Professor  Goebel. — C. 


Xitcrarp  Unflucncee  anb  IPoetic  (Treatlone    79 

collector,  Weisse,  with  whom  he  became  personally  ac- 
quainted, he  enjoyed  seeing  on  the  stage,  without  being 
deceived  by  their  insignificance. 

But  however  disparaging  may  have  been  his  opinions  of 
the  great  mass  of  German  poets,  as  a  result  of  his  own  and 
others'  criticism,  nevertheless,  according  to  indications,  he 
took  cognisance  of  all  literary  productions  which  appeared 
in  the  market.  This  immoderate  fondness  for  reading  was 
responsible  for  the  basketfuls  of  German  authors,  which,  in 
his  last  or  next  to  last  semester,  he  carried  to  Langer, 
Behrisch's  successor,  to  exchange  for  a  little  pile  of  Greek 
writers  whom,  under  the  influence  of  Oeser,  Winckelmann, 
and  Lessing,  he  had  begun  to  admire  as  the  true  models. 
But  for  the  present  his  Greek  studies  did  not  extend  beyond 
the  formation  of  good  resolutions. 

His  familiarity  with  modem  foreign  literatures  was  also 
constantly  increasing.  He  found  Goldoni  continually  at 
the  Leipsic  theatre,  Comeille  he  attempted  to  translate, 
Rousseau  appears  occasionally  in  his  letters,  but  he  is 
captivated  most  of  all  by  Shakespeare.  He  delights  in 
reading  Wieland's  translation,  after  his  appetite  has  been 
sharpened  by  Dodd's  Beauties  of  Shakespeare.  To  be  sure, 
his  angle  of  vision  is  still  too  narrow  to  grasp  the  gigantic 
greatness  of  the  British  poet,  even  if  he  does  quote  him 
constantly  and  bew^ail  his  love  sorrows  in  Shakespearian 
allegories.  But  he  foresees  the  leavening  power  of  this  new 
influence  when,  a  short  time  after  his  Leipsic  period,  he 
counts  Shakespeare  among  his  real  teachers. 

It  was  not  in  Goethe,  with  the  universal  mind  which 
Nature  had  given  him  and  his  father  had  carefully  nurtured, 
to  limit  his  studies  to  art  and  belles-lettres.  He  ranged  far 
beyond,  and  took  a  live  interest  in  general  works  on  theo- 
logy, medicine,  law,  and  philosophy.  He  became  especially 
wrapped  up  in  the  theological  controversy  over  the  divine 
or  human  authorship  of  the  Bible,  and  as  a  Leipsic  convert 
to  rationalism  he  took  the  liberal  view. 

Thus  Goethe  in  six  academic  semesters  had  acquired  an 
imcommon  store  of  varied  information.     He  was  not  yet 


8o  ZTbe  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

Faust,  but  the  student  who  knew  much  and  would  like  to 
know  all. 

His  comprehensive  higher  education  was  not  accom- 
panied by  a  corresponding  clearness  of  feeling  and  know- 
ledge. On  the  contrary,  the  opposing  schools  and  doctrines 
with  which  he  was  beset  had  brought  his  brain  into  a 
chaotic  condition,  from  which  he  rescued  himself  but 
slowly. 

Aside  from  Die  Mitschuldigen,  his  productions  betray 
little  of  the  inner  crisis.  They  did  not  go  deep  enough  to 
be  caught  by  the  mad  whirlpools  beneath.  From  the  dis- 
couraging criticism  of  Morus,  Clodius,  and  Frau  Bohme  his 
recovery  was  rapid.  His  poetic  impulse  was  so  uncon- 
querable that  no  doubts  of  his  talent  and  of  his  achieve- 
ment could  suppress  it.  He  took  up  writing  again,  which 
became  from  now  on  an  ever-increasing  need  of  his  in- 
tellectual life.  For  in  Leipsic  "began  that  inclination,"  as 
he  remarks  in  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit,  "  to  transform  every- 
thing which  pleased,  annoyed,  or  otherwise  occupied  me, 
into  a  picture  or  a  poem,  and  thus  to  put  the  matter  aside, 
at  the  same  time  correcting  my  ideas  of  external  things  and 
restoring  my  peace  of  mind."  To  be  sure,  not  everything 
he  produces  in  Leipsic  bears  as  yet  this  stamp.  For  by  the 
side  of  poetical  confessions  runs  the  artificial  poetry  then 
in  vogue,  and  this  is  evidently  received  with  greater  ap- 
plause by  his  friends  than  that  which  was  bom  of  his  heart. 

Poetic  activity  strengthened  again  the  young  man's 
faith  in  his  genius,  and  he  speaks  of  the  criticisms  which  he 
receives  with  cool  composure.  "  Since  I  am  wholly  without 
pride,"  he  writes  to  his  sister  in  May,  1767,  "I  can  trust  my 
inner  conviction,  which  tells  me  that  I  possess  some  of  the 
qualifications  requisite  in  a  poet,  and  that  I  may  some  day 
with  diligence  become  one.  ...  I  wish  people  would 
leave  me  alone.  If  I  have  genius,  I  shall  become  a  poet, 
even  if  no  man  correct  me ;  if  I  have  none,  all  criticisms  are 
in  vain."  With  this  calm  trust  in  himself  he  produces, 
especially  in  his  last  two  years  in  Leipsic,  an  ever-increasing 
host  of  compositions :  comedies,  tragedies,  songs,  epigrams. 


Xltcrar^  Unfluencca  anb  poetic  Creations    8i 

satires,  odes,  dithyrambs,  poems  to  accompany  etchings  and 
drawings,  novels  in  letters,  and  so  forth.  Of  this  great 
mass  only  a  few  things  have  been  preserv-ed. 

Let  us  first  consider  the  two  most  extensive  productions, 
Die  Laune  des  Verliebten  and  Die  Mitschuldigen. 

Die  Laune  des  Verliebten,^^  or  Amine,  as  the  piece  was 
first  called,  did  not  originate  in  its  earliest  form  in  Leipsic, 
but  in  Frankfort.  In  this  form  it  was  apparently  nothing 
but  an  improbable,  unreal,  pastoral  drama  constructed  after 
the  usual  pattern,  and  Goethe  was  ashamed  of  it  two  years 
later  and  recast  it  completely,  when  he  learned  from  ex- 
perience what  he  had  previously  sought  to  fabricate  out  of 
abstractions.  Consequently,  his  statement  that  the  piece, 
as  we  know  it,  sprang  from  his  relation  to  Katchen  is 
thoroughly  accurate.  Indeed  we  may  assume  that  it  cor- 
responds to  the  reahty  in  a  greater  degree  than  we  are  able 
to  prove.  The  poet  certainly  declares  to  his  sister  that  it 
is  a  careful  copy  from  nature.  He  took  luiusual  pains  with 
the  little  play  of  five  hundred  verses.  In  October,  1767, 
he  had  been  at  work  at  it  for  eight  months;  he  had  not 
minded  working  over  whole  situations  two  or  three  times, 
but  when  he  thought  he  had  finished,  he  had  made  only  a 
fair  beginning.  Thus  the  second  redaction  passed  through 
the  crucible  so  often  that  scarcely  a  hundred  verses  of  it 
were  left.  Finalty,  in  April,  1768,  he  puts  the  work  aside. 
"There  you  have  the  comedy,"  he  writes  to  Behrisch; 
"  you  wiU  hardly  recognise  it.  Horn  insists  that  I  make 
no  more  changes  in  it  for  fear  of  spoiling  it,  and  he  is  about 
right." 

Two  couples  are  contrasted  with  each  other:  Eridon 
(Goethe)  and  Amine  (Katchen),  Lamon  and  Egle  (probably 
suggested  by  Horn  and  Constanze  Breitkopf ) .  Lamon  and 
Egle  are  mutually  trustful,  and  by  granting  each  other  a 
certain  amount  of  liberty  enjoy  an  imdisturbed  lovers' 
happiness.  Eridon  and  Amine,  inflamed  with  a  deeper, 
more  passionate  love,  cannot  enjoy  their  happiness,  because 
Eridon  persecutes  Amine  with  jealous  mistrust  and  will 
grant  her  no  pleasure  of  which  he  is  not  the  source.     Egle 

VOL.    1. 6. 


82  Zbc  %\tc  of  6oetbe 

attempts  to  incite  her  friend  Amine  to  resist  the  tyrannical 
moods  of  Eridon.  But  her  gentle  friend  feels  too  weak  for 
the  task,  and  so  Egle  herself  undertakes  to  cure  the  lover 
of  his  jealousy.  She  lures  the  severe  moraliser  into  her 
arms  and  makes  him  kiss  her  and  then  makes  him  ashamed 
and  reforms  him. 

The  intrigue  is  ingenious  and  the  unravelling  clever. 
At  the  very  moment  when  Eridon  is  wildly  enraged  over  a 
merely  seeming  but  wholly  innocent  betrayal  on  the  part 
of  Amine,  he  himself  becomes  guilty  of  a  real  and  more 
culpable  one,  for  which  he  atones  in  shame  and  remorse. 

We  are  surprised  at  the  youthful  poet's  art  in  keeping 
the  four  characters  distinct  from  one  another :  Lamon,  sane, 
somewhat  superficial,  jovial,  dauntless;  Egle,  clever,  fluent, 
good-natured,  coquettish ;  Eridon,  peevish,  moody,  carping, 
passionate,  easily  captivated  by  any  beautiful  maiden ;  and 
finally  Amine,  tender,  affectionate,  devoted,  her  pure  heart, 
like  Iphigenia's,  incapable  of  dissimulation,  or  the  slightest 
unfaithfulness  or  deception,  even  if  they  are  only  the  means 
to  the  purest  end.  We  observe  only  one  fault  in  the  de- 
lineation of  the  characters — in  Eridon.  His  character  is 
clear-cut  but  not  complete.  In  order  that  we  may  under- 
stand why  Amine  is  unwilling,  in  spite  of  his  petty  tyranny, 
to  dismiss  her  moody  lover,  the  poet  ought  to  have  given 
him,  beside  his  whimsicalness,  brilliant  genius  and,  in  his 
good  moments,  bewitching  amiability.  That  Goethe  failed 
to  do  this  is  explained  by  the  fact  that  he  was  both  poet  and 
model.  Absorbed  in  giving  a  lifelike  reproduction  of  him- 
self he  overlooked  the  poetical  aspect  of  his  nature.  We 
meet  this  same  thing  occasionally  in  his  later  poetic  doubles. 
Goethe  disguised  his  piece  under  the  mask  of  the  traditional 
pastoral  play.  But  it  was  as  different  from  contemporary 
or  preceding  plays  as  a  living  man  from  a  porcelain  figure. 

Whereas  Die  Laune  des  Verliehten  belongs  to  the  Frank- 
f(;rt  period  only  in  general  outline,  Die  Mitschiddigen  ^^  is 
firmly  rooted  in  the  soil  of  his  native  city.  The  poet  him- 
self says:  "How  many  families  had  I  not  seen  hurled  into 
ruin,  or  barely  rescued  from  the  very  brink,  either  directly 


Xitcrar^  llntluencce  anb  poetic  Creations    83 

or  indirectly  by  bankruptcies,  divorces,  betrayed  daughters, 
murders,  burglaries,  or  poisonings;  and  how  often  I,  young 
as  I  was,  had  in  such  cases  extended  a  hand  to  help  or  to 
rescue,  ...  in  doing  which  I  could  not  well  avoid  the 
annoying  and  humiliating  experiences  which  came  to  me 
directly,  and  indirectly  through  others.  In  order  to  give 
vent  to  my  feelings  I  devised  several  plays  and  wrote  out 
the  expositions  of  most  of  them.  But  as  the  plots  were 
always  of  necessity  terrifying  and  almost  all  threatened  a 
tragic  end,  I  let  them  drop  one  after  another."  He  kept  at 
Die  Mitschuldigen  until  he  finished  it,  because  he  thought  he 
might  bring  this  problem  to  a  happy  solution;  whether 
rightly  or  no  may  be  seriously  questioned,  considering  the 
plot.  To  his  daughter  Sophie,  twenty-four  years  of  age  and 
still  tmmarried,  the  keeper  of  the  Black  Bear  has  at  last 
given  for  a  husband  the  dissipated  wretch.  Seller,  who  is 
deeply  involved  in  debt.  The  innkeeper's  hopes  that  his  son- 
in-law  will  reform  after  marriage  are  bitterly  disappointed. 
From  morning  till  night  he  sits  like  an  idiot  in  the  taproom 
and  drinks  his  fill  of  his  father-in-law's  wine,  or  gambles  in 
other  inns  till  late  at  night  and  in  the  morning  listens 
stupidly  to  the  reproaches  of  the  family.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  action,  one  of  his  companions,  Herr  von  Tirinette, 
sends  him  a  reminder  of  his  gambling  debts.  SoUer,  w^ho, 
after  Sophie's  sermon  on  his  evil  business  habits,  has  no 
hope  of  receiving  anything  from  his  father-in-law,  does  not 
hesitate  long.  A  distinguished  guest,  Alcest,  formerly  an 
admirer  of  Sophie,  has  arrived.  In  the  night,  while  Alcest 
is  supposed  to  be  at  a  carnival  banquet  and  everybody 
thinks  Seller  at  the  masquerade,  he  intends  to  get  the 
money  from  the  rich  guest's  purse.  On  the  other  hand, 
Alcest,  who  has  sought  in  vain  to  catch  an  hour  when  he 
could  be  alone  with  Sophie,  arranges  a  rendezvous  with  her 
that  evening  in  his  room.  Finally,  the  landlord  is  painfully 
curious  about  a  letter  which  Alcest  has  received.  To 
satisfy  his  curiosity  he  is  going  to  look  into  the  letter  in 
Alcest's  absence  in  the  evening.  Seller  is  the  first  to  appear 
in  the  room,  but  hardly  has  he  stolen  the  money  from  the 


84  Cbe  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

purse,  when  he  is  scared  into  the  alcove  by  the  approach  of 
the  landlord.  The  landlord,  after  a  vain  search  for  the 
letter,  flees  at  the  sound  of  steps.  It  is  Sophie,  soon 
followed  by  Alcest.  There  develops  a  warm  love-scene, 
which  Sophie  quickly  brings  to  an  end  when  Alcest  becomes 
too  impetuous.  While  he  is  accompanying  her  to  the  main 
door,  Seller  escapes  by  a  side  entrance.  Alcest  notices  the 
theft  and  sounds  an  alarm  in  the  morning.  Sophie  and  her 
father  have  mutually  confessed  meanwhile  that  they  have 
been  in  Alcest's  room  in  the  evening,  and  each  thinks  the 
other  is  the  thief.  By  a  promise  to  show  the  eagerly  de- 
sired letter,  Alcest  persuades  the  landlord  to  denounce  his 
daughter  as  the  culprit.  Alcest  is  disgusted  with  Sophie's 
depravity,  but  is  none  the  less  bent  upon  accomplishing  his 
purpose  with  her.  Soon  he  sees  his  mistake  and  discovers 
in  Soller  the  real  criminal.  But  as  the  innocent  ones  are 
also  conscious  of  guilt,  they,  as  accomphces,  headed  by 
Alcest,  forgive  the  common  thief,  Soller. 

The  development  of  the  plot  shows  that  the  yoimg  poet 
was  neither  morally  nor  artistically  equal  to  the  subject. 
When,  in  a  later  criticism  of  himself,  he  says  this  piece 
offends  our  esthetic  and  moral  feelings,  this  severe  judg- 
ment is  correct;  but  not  merely,  as  he  remarks,  "because 
of  the  harshly  outspoken  [meaning,  doubtless,  insufficiently 
accounted  for]  criminal  acts  of  the  characters,"  but  still  more 
because  of  the  contradictions  in  their  conduct.  The  poet 
expects  too  much  of  us.  We  are  to  believe  that  Sophie,  an 
excellent  creature,  a  model  of  virtue,  who  represented,  in 
the  eyes  of  cultured  Alcest,  divinity,  girl,  and  friend,  ac- 
cepted as  a  husband  that  monster,  that  brute,  that  stupid, 
malicious,  cowardly,  lying  vagabond,  Soller,  merely  be- 
cause she  was  twenty-four  and  had  "no  more  chances  to 
lose."  We  are  to  believe  that  Alcest  cherishes  the  highest 
respect  for  Sophie,  and  yet  believes  the  worst  of  her;  be- 
lieve that  he  has  a  great  and  noble  soul,  and  yet  conducts 
himself  like  a  criminal,  and  from  his  crime  will  pluck  sweet 
fruits  for  himself;  that  a  father,  whose  daughter  is  every- 
thing to  him  in  his  circumstances,  denounces  her  as  a  thief 


Uitcrari^  llnflucncee  anb  poetic  Creations    85 

for  no  other  reason  than  to  satisfy  his  miserable,  idle 
curiosity.  We  cannot  do  it.  Hence  it  is  also  impossible 
for  us  to  be  reconciled  to  the  happy  end,  where  they  all 
shake  hands  as  accomplices.  This  scoundrel  Soller  ought 
to  have  been  kicked  out  when  he  had  crowned  his  moral 
depravity  and  infamous  laziness  by  common  thievery.  To 
be  sure,  that  would  have  precluded  a  happy  outcome,  but  it 
was  a  fatal  mistake  in  the  poet  to  work  toward  such  an  end. 
This  fault,  however,  brings  us  to  the  recognition  of  a  deep- 
seated  characteristic  of  the  poet,  especially  in  his  early  life. 
Just  as  he  discarded  the  dramatic  plots  belonging  to  the 
same  cycle  of  motives  as  Die  Mitschuldigen  because  of  the 
threatened  tragic  end,  so  also  the  countless  other  tragic 
plots  which  occupied  him  in  his  youth.  Not  until  several 
years  later  did  he  have  the  courage  to  undertake  tragedy; 
but  even  then,  when  he  himself  is  personally  involved,  he 
seeks  to  avoid  a  tragic  outcome.  The  most  conspicuous 
example  is  Stella.  He  had  inherited  from  his  mother  a 
desire  to  keep  away  from  the  sad  and  terrible.  A  smaller 
man  would  not  have  suffered  from  the  same  peculiarities  in 
poetiy  as  in  life,  but  with  him  the  two  were  one. 

Another  remarkable  thing  about  Die  Mitschuldigen  is 
the  fact  that  he  veiled  his  work  on  this  drama  in  the  deepest 
secrecy.  While  he  is  constantly  chatting  about  the  pas- 
toral play,  and  about  dozens  of  unfinished  plots,  either  to 
his  sister  or  to  his  friends,  he  is  completely  silent  about  Die 
Mitschuldigen.  And  yet  he  seems  to  have  been  rather 
proud  of  the  work.  At  least  he  later  gave  a  copy  of  it  to 
Friederike  Brion. 

In  our  condemnation  of  the  play  we  must  not  fail  to 
state  that  it  contains  beside  its  radical  faults  many  things 
which  evoke  our  respect  for  the  poet's  talent.  The  rapidly 
moving  action,  the  Dutch  miniature-painting  of  the  first 
act,  the  comical  situations  and  language,  among  other 
things,  betray  his  rare  gifts. 

Both  Die  Laune  des  Verliebten  and  Die  Mitschuldigen 
show  the  old  technique  of  the  French  stage  and  the  old 
form,  the  Alexandrine.     The  latter  is  especially  surprising, 


86  Zbc  Xlfe  of  (Boetbc 

as  Goethe  at  the  age  of  sixteen  made  sport  of  the  Alex- 
andrine and  in  the  fifth  act  of  Belsazar  (of  which  only  a  few 
lines  survive)  had  gone  over  to  the  iambic  pentameter. 
We  obser\''e  the  same  loyalty  to  tradition  in  Annette,^^  a 
collection  of  poems  made  in  1767  and  only  recently  dis- 
covered, and  in  Neue  Lieder,^^  which  he  published  anony- 
mously in  1769  with  music  by  Bernhard  Breitkopf.  They 
are  conceived  in  the  traditional,  even  if  less  mawkish 
phraseology,  and  in  the  powdered,  affected  style  of  the 
German  and  French  anacreontic,  and,  worst  of  all,  are  for 
the  most  part  artificial:  clever  conceits  on  love,  virtue, 
coyness,  moonlight,  bridal  night,  way  of  the  world,  here 
and  there  adorned  with  precocious  didactic  remarks,  which 
sound  droll  enough  in  the  mouth  of  our  yoiing  student. 

If  we  ask  why  Goethe,  in  spite  of  all  adverse  criticism,  in 
spite  of  knowing  better,  followed  the  old  ways,  the  ex- 
planation is  near  at  hand.  Nobody  likes  to  forego  applause. 
Not  yet  brave  and  strong  enough  to  win  over  the  public  to 
something  new,  in  the  poems  which  he  intends  for  the 
public  he  remains  faithful  to  popular  taste.  That  Goethe 
was  subject  to  such  external  pressure,  even  through  the 
medium  of  his  friends,  who  were  his  nearest  critical  and 
reading  public,  we  can  assert  with  the  greater  security,  as 
we  possess  other  specimens  of  his  Leipsic  lyrics,  which  he 
dashed  off  without  any  other  purpose  than  to  relieve  his 
feelings.  A  few  of  the  finest  of  them  we  have  already 
interwoven  in  our  discussion,  as  from  the  odes  to  Behrisch, 
from  letters  to  him  and  to  Riese.  Here  we  will  mention 
further  the  poem  addressed  to  Schlosser  (from  the  spring 
of  1766),  in  which  he  expresses,  in  sad  EngHsh  verse,  his 
tormenting  doubts  as  to  his  worth  as  man  and  poet;  and 
these  touching  verses  to  his  mother  (May,  1767),  in  which 
he  begs  her  not  to  misinterpret  his  long  silence : 

.     .     .     Sofi  fcincn  ^lucifcl  boc^ 
3nei  .*$cr^,  nie  unir  Mc  3iiitlid)fcit  bc^  Sol)n8, 
®ic  id)  T^ir  )d)iilbiii  bin,  am  tiiciiicr  5^ni[t 
(5ntti)id)ni.     Tkui,  fo  iiiniit^  alis  bci  gcli^, 


Xlterar^  Untluences  anb  Ipoetic  Creations    ^7 

®cr  ticf  im  gliip,  uor  erogem  5lnfcr  licgt, 

5lus  [einer  3tdttc  rocid)t,  obcjleid)  Mc  ^liit 

Wxi  [turmid)cn  SBeUen  balb,  mit  fanftcn  balb 

'5)arubcr  fficpt,  unb  i^n  bcm  ^liig  cntrcipt, 

(So  reenig  rccic^t  bic  3artlid)fcit  fur  bic^ 

5tii^  mcincr  2^rii[t,  obgleid)  bee  I'cbcne  Strom, 

S^om  Sc^merj  gcpeitfc^t,  balb  [tfirtncnb  brubcr  flieft, 

Unb,  Don  bcr  greiibe  balb  gcitreid)clt,  ftill 

(Sie  becft,  unb  [ic  iierl)inbcrt,  bap  [ie  nid)t 

3^r  §aupt  ber  3onnc  ^cigt  unb  ringeumtjcr 

Burucfgcroorfne  Stral)lcn  tragt  unb  T^ir 

Se^  jebem  ^^licfc  jcigt,  mie  iDic^  ^ein  So^n  oere^rt.* 

When  we  consider  the  genuine  feehng  of  these  occa- 
sional poems,  we  receive  an  entirely  different  conception  of 
Goethe's  Leipsic  lyrics  than  that  derived  from  Annette  and 
the  Neue  Lieder.  There  are  in  them  an  ardour,  a  depth, 
and  a  genuineness  of  feeling  imited  with  a  beauty,  a  power, 
and  a  vigour  of  style  which  we  find  in  the  other  collections 
very  rarely  or  not  at  all.  How  little  they  remind  us  of  the 
very  young  student  and  of  the  esthetic  atmosphere  in 
which  he  had  grown  up  and  which  he  still  breathed  1  How 
far  they  surpassed  even  Klopstock,  not  to  mention  others! 
There  is  no  doubt  whatever  that  all  the  German  lyric 
poetry  of  the  time  had  nothing  of  equal  merit  to  put  beside 
these  poems  quietly  inserted  in  his  letters. 

*  .     .     .     Ope  not  thy  heart  to  doubt, 
As  though  the  tender  love  I  owe  to  thee, 
In  filial  reverence  as  thy  son,  were  gone 
From  out  my  breast.     As  little  as  the  rock, 
Deep  anchored  in  the  river's  tide,  doth  e'er 
Its  moorings  change,  though  oft  the  water's  flood 
Now  breaks  in  stormy  waves,  now  gently  glides 
Above,  about,  withholding  it  from  view; 
So  little  doth  my  tender  love  for  thee 
Forsake  my  breast,  e'en  though  the  stream  of  life 
Now,  scourged  by  pain,  engulf  it  in  the  storm. 
Now,  smoothed  by  joy,  serenely  overflow, 
With  gentle  waves  conceal,  and  it  forbid 
To  lift  its  head  into  the  light  above 
To  shed  reflected  rays  abroad  and  tell 
By  every  look  how  much  I  thee  adore. 


88  Zl)c  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

Neither  did  Goethe  neglect  epic  poetry  in  Leipsic.  For 
Gellert's  composition  course,  for  example,  he  prepared 
short  novels  in  epistolary  form,^^  depicting  passionate 
love-scenes.  The  less  favour  they  found  in  the  eyes  of  the 
teacher  the  dearer  they  were  to  the  pupil,  and  he  preserved 
them  from  the  holocaust  to  which,  before  his  departure  for 
Strasburg,  he  devoted  the  most  of  his  Leipsic  attempts. 
But  whatever  there  may  have  been  in  the  way  of  epic  com- 
positions among  those  destroyed  or  later  lost,  it  is  certain 
that  nothing  equalled  the  soul-stirring  love-story,  tingling 
with  pulsations  of  Hfe,  which  in  his  hours  of  emotion  slipped 
from  his  fingers  in  his  letters  to  Behrisch. 

If  Goethe,  Hke  his  later  friend,  Jung-Stilling,  had  be- 
lieved that  he  stood  in  immediate  personal  relationship 
with  God,  it  would  be  easily  comprehended.  For  in  a 
wonderful  manner  the  events  of  his  life,  the  happy  as  well 
as  the  sorrowful,  imite  to  form  a  great,  harmonious  whole. 
Thus  he  might  have  considered  it  a  wise  decree  of  fate,  that 
at  the  end  of  his  Leipsic  epoch  he  contracted  a  long  and 
severe  illness.  For  it  was  necessary  that  the  moral  and 
intellectual  confusion  into  which  he  had  fallen,  because  of 
the  thousand  new  and  conflicting  influences  to  which  he  had 
been  subjected,  should  be  corrected  by  a  period  of  isolation, 
enforced  rest,  and  self-examination. 

By  his  own  account  there  were  many  things  which  con- 
spired to  bring  a  dangerous  crisis  upon  him.  In  an  accident 
to  his  carriage  on  the  journey  to  Leipsic,  he  had  overtaxed 
his  lungs  and  a  Hngering  pain  had  resulted,  which  became 
more  acute  after  a  fall  from  his  horse  in  October,  1767; 
while  etching,  he  had  not  been  careful  enough  in  guarding 
against  the  fumes  of  the  acids ;  the  trouble  was  further  ag- 
gravated by  an  improper  diet,  by  the  heavy  Merseburg  beer, 
and  by  inconsiderate  attempts  to  harden  his  body,  partly  out 
of  wantonness,  partly  out  of  melancholy,  and  partly  out  of 
a  bad  application  of  new  theories  d,  la  Rousseau.  A  violent 
reaction  indicated  by  a  hemorrhage  set  in  and  for  days  he 
hovered  between  life  and  death.  He  spent  several  weeks  in 
bed  and  required  most  careful  nursing.       As  a  soothing 


Xiterar^  llnfluences  anb  poetic  Creations    89 

balsam  upon  a  painful  wound  he  felt  the  love  and  sym- 
pathy manifested  about  him  and  which  he  thought  was  un- 
deserved, for  among  those  who  took  loving  care  of  him  there 
was  not  one  whom  he  had  not  offended  in  some  way  or  other 
by  his  hateful  moods.  The  entire  Breitkopf  family,  the 
Stocks,  and,  we  may  well  add,  the  Schonkopfs  and  the  Oesers 
treated  him  as  a  near  relative,  Horn  was  about  him  every 
moment.  Assessor  Herrmann  gave  him  every  free  hour, 
likewise  Langer,  Groning  (a  fellow-student  from  Bremen, 
later  ambassador  and  mayor  of  the  Hanse  town) ,  and  others 
whom  he  does  not  mention  by  name,  took  a  warm  interest 
in  his  welfare.  They  nursed  him,  they  amused  him,  when 
convalescent  they  took  him  driving  to  the  near-by  country- 
seats,  and  bestowed  upon  him  everything  else  that  promised 
relief  or  refreshment.  Thus  he  gradually  recovered  strength. 
But  he  was  far  from  having  regained  his  former  health  when 
on  his  birthday  in  the  year  1768  he  left  Leipsic  to  return 
home.  He  could  not  persuade  himself  to  bid  the  Schon- 
kopfs good-bye.  "I  was  in  the  neighbourhood,"  he  writes 
to  Schonkopf  from  Frankfort,  "  I  was  even  at  the  door  and 
came  to  the  stairs,  but  I  had  not  the  heart  to  come  up. 
How  should  I  ever  have  gotten  down  for  the  last  time?  I 
do  not  need  to  ask  you  to  remember  me;  you  will  have  a 
thousand  occasions  to  think  of  a  young  man,  who  for  two 
and  a  half  years  was  a  part  of  your  family,  who,  no  doubt, 
often  gave  you  cause  for  vexation,  but  was,  nevertheless,  a 
good  young  fellow." 


VII 

AT   HOME   AGAIN 

Return  from  Leipsic — Family  discord — Dulness  of  Frankfort — Slow- 
recovery  of  health — Fraulein  von  Klettenberg's  influence — Study 
of  magic — Alchemistical  experiments — Other  studies — Misunder- 
standing with  his  father — Departure  for  Strasburg. 

WITH  what  proud  hopes  the  elder  Goethe  must  have 
seen  his  highly  gifted  son  setting  out  for  the 
tiniversity  three  years  before,  and  in  what  a 
condition  he  saw  him  return!  An  ill  and  senile  youth,* 
without  his  doctor's  hood,  indeed  without  any  notable  ad- 
vancement in  his  specialty.  Everything  seemed  lost :  time, 
money,  health,  study.  And  so  his  return  to  his  father's 
house  was  marked  by  a  stormy  scene,  foreshadowing  the 
oppressive  sultriness  of  the  succeeding  months.  Wolfgang 
found  in  his  home  nothing  to  stimulate  him.  In  the  httle 
family  there  were  two  parties  quietly  opposing  each  other, 
and  consequently  all  the  inmates  were  out  of  sorts,  which 
served  only  to  increase  his  ill-humour.  His  father,  who  was 
not  practising  any  profession,  had  devoted  his  entire  educa- 
tional energy  to  Cornelia  during  her  brother's  absence,  and 
in  that  way  robbed  her  of  many  an  innocent  joy  of  youth. 
She,  the  strangest  combination  of  severity  and  gentleness, 
of  stubbornness  and  obedience,  endowed  with  a  most  acute 
critical  faculty,  which  mercilessly  exaggerated  her  own  and 
others'  faults,  could  not  pardon  her  father's  harsh  one- 
sidedness,  and  was  filled  with  violent  anger  against  him,  as 

*  Cf.  Br.,  i.,  171 :  Kann  man  was  traurigers  erfahren?     Am  KOrper  alt, 
und  jung  an  Jahren,  Halb  siech,  und  halb  gesund  zu  seyn? — C. 

90 


Bt  Ibome  Hoain  91 

was  only  too  apparent  in  her  actions.  On  the  other  hand, 
she  turned  with  all  the  more  abandon  the  tender,  loving 
side  of  her  nature  toward  her  brother,  whom  she  had  dearly 
loved  from  earliest  childhood,  and  to  live  and  care  for  him 
seemed  to  be  her  highest  and  happiest  duty.  Into  his 
heart  she  poured  also  the  many  complaints  which  she  had 
treasured  up  during  the  three  years  of  separation.  And 
yet  her  brother  could  not  help  her,  much  less  approve  of 
her  conduct.  He  felt  compelled  rather  to  agree  with  his 
mother,  who,  soon  after  his  return,  complained  to  him  of 
Cornelia's  unkind  actions  toward  her  father.  Thus  he, 
who  was  in  need  of  help,  stood  between  the  nearest  of  his 
kin,  while  they  burdened  his  sore  heart  with  complaints 
against  each  other  or  with  silent  reproaches  such  as  he 
read  in  his  father's  eyes. 

Neither  had  his  native  city  anything  to  console  him. 
As  compared  with  the  cheerfulness  and  gaiety  of  Leipsic,  with 
its  merry,  active  life  and  its  amiable  inhabitants,  whose 
weaknesses  were  now  softened  by  distance,  Frankfort 
seemed  to  him  more  gloomy,  more  dull,  more  leaden  than 
ever  before.  So  it  was  his  chief  delight  to  tarry  in  thought 
by  the  banks  of  the  Pleisse,  and  the  lively  correspondence 
which  he  kept  up  with  friends  there  is  filled  with  sighs  of 
longing  for  the  fair  "  Little  Paris." 

The  rest  and  care  which  Goethe  enjoyed  at  home  at  first 
rapidly  promoted  his  recovery.  But  soon  new  complica- 
tions arose,  which,  on  Cornelia's  birthday,  December  seventh, 
brought  about  such  a  crisis  that  for  two  days  his  life  was 
despaired  of.  His  mother  and  he  never  forgot  these 
terrible  days,  and  even  after  decades  they  remembered  how 
she  in  her  despair  had  taken  refuge  in  the  Bible  and  found 
comfort  in  the  passage:  "Again  shalt  thou  plant  vineyards 
upon  the  mountains  of  Samaria:  the  planters  shall  plant, 
and  shall  enjoy  the  fruit  thereof."  But  even  when  the 
crisis  was  past  there  was  many  another  serious  hour  when 
the  family  drooped  their  heads  in  sorrow.  Goethe  alone 
preserved  a  buoyant  spirit.  "My  cheerfulness,"  he  writes 
to  Katchen  at  the  end  of  the  vear,  "  has  been  a  comfort  to 


92  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

my  people,  who  were  in  no  condition  to  console  themselves, 
much  less  me," 

Until  the  following  March  the  patient  was  confined 
either  to  his  bed  or  to  his  room.  During  the  succeeding 
months  his  health  was  constantly  on  the  mend,  but  still 
necessitated  a  quiet,  retired  life.  Painful  though  the  quiet 
lonesomeness  was  to  the  poor  little  fox,*  as  he  liked  to  call 
himself  in  those  days,  yet  it  afforded  him  an  opportunity  to 
continue  the  process  of  clarification  and  deepening  already 
begun  in  his  sickroom  in  Leipsic.  After  he  had  twice  been 
brought  to  "the  great  strait  through  which  all  must 
pass,"  he  renounced  the  cold  rationalism,  and,  still  more 
decidedly,  the  sceptical  negation  to  which  he  had  lent  a 
listening  ear  in  the  past  years,  and  turned  to  a  more  positive 
faith  in  God  and  the  world.  This  process  of  transformation 
was  helped  on  by  the  influence  of  tender,  pious  Fraulein 
Susanna  Katharina  von  Klettenberg,  a  friend  and  relative 
of  his  mother.  After  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg  had  gone 
through  many  painful  worldly  experiences  and  disappoint- 
ments she  had  found  peace  and  joy  of  soul  in  the  doctrines 
of  Moravianism.  Goethe  saw  with  admiration  how  she 
bore  with  composure  everything,  even  chronic  illness,  re- 
garding it  a  necessary  part  of  her  transitory  life  on  earth. 
He  was  glad  to  come  into  touch  with  such  an  exalted,  or, 
as  the  poet  calls  her,  beautiful  soul,  that  breathed  the  air 
of  heaven;  and  it  did  him  good  to  unbosom  himself  to  her 
and  lay  bare  before  her  his  unrest,  his  impatience,  and  all 
the  aspirations,  meditations,  and  weaknesses  of  his  heart. 
When  his  pious  friend  ascribed  it  all  to  his  lack  of  reconcilia- 
tion with  God,  and  he  half  jokingly  retorted  that  he  be- 
lieved he  himself  had  some  things  to  forgive,  for  God 
should  have  lent  more  efficient  aid  to  his  infinitely  good 
will,  the  conversation  usually  ended  in  a  dispute,  or  with 
the  remark  of  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg  that  "he  was  a 
foolish  fellow."  Nevertheless  these  conversations  left  be- 
hind fruitful  suggestions,  which  Goethe  followed  out,  until 

*  An  allusion  to  the  fox  of  the  fable  who  lost  his  tail.      Cf.  Hagedorn, 
Fab.  u.  Erz.,  i.,  No.  6,  Der  Fuchs  ohne  Schwanz. — C. 


at  1bome  Hgain  93 

he  had  constructed  for  himself  a  curious  half-Christian, 
half-mythological  philosophy,  allied  to  Neoplatonism  and, 
in  spite  of  its  Christian  colouring,  to  pantheism,  and  in 
which  he  found  temporary  peace. 

This  same  friend  and  Doctor  Metz,  who  was  her  physi- 
cian as  well  as  his  own,  led  him  to  studies  and  investigations 
of  a  mystical,  alchemistical,  and  medical  nature.  The 
works  of  Georg  von  Welling,  Paracelsus,  Basilius  Valen- 
tinus,  van  Helmont,  and  the  Aurea  Catena  Homeri  were 
taken  up  on  quiet  winter  evenings  and  read  with  great  de- 
light, partly  by  himself,  and  partly  in  company  with  Frau- 
lein  von  Klettenberg  and  his  mother.  He  was  especially 
attracted  by  the  Aurea  Catena  Homeri,  in  which  the  cycle 
of  nature  was  described  in  a  beautiful  half-mystic,  half- 
scientific  way,  and  by  the  works  of  the  daring,  profound, 
fantastic  Paracelsus,  from  which  he  copied  copious  notes 
into  his  diary.  The  spirit  which  dominated  these  works 
was  closely  related  to  the  magical,  and  they  seemed  to  open 
up  a  mysterious,  supernatural  world  to  the  young  adept, 
before  whose  eyes  the  night-studying  *  magus  was  already 
drawing  his  magic  circles.  Neither  did  he  neglect  to  try 
(likewise  following  the  example  of  Fraulein  von  Kletten- 
berg), by  way  of  chemical  experiment,  to  discover  the 
mysterious  interrelation  of  things.  He  fitted  up  a  small 
laboratory,  experimented  at  his  wind  furnace  with  alembics 
and  retorts,  partly  to  produce  so-called  neutral  salts,  partly 
to  extract  a  virgin  earth  from  liquor  silicum  and  observe  its 
transition  into  pregnancy.  To  be  sure,  he  did  not  succeed, 
but  these  studies  and  experiments  under  the  guidance  of 
the  chemical  compendium  of  Boerhave  brought  him  closer 
to  methodical  chemistry  and  gave  him  at  the  same  time 
true  colours  and  happy  motives  for  his  germinating  Faust. 

Side  by  side  with  his  philosophical,  alchemistical,  and 

*  Considering  the  very  large  use  made  by  Bielschowsky  of  Goethe's 
own  words  in  writing  this  biography  the  word  nachforschend  (investigat- 
ing) of  his  text  must  be  a  misprint  for  Nachtforschend,  and  my  translation 
endeavours  to  reproduce  the  meaning  of  the  latter  word.  Cf.  Goethe's 
letter  to  Friederike  Oeser  (Br.,  i.,  190),  in  which  the  words,  "ein  Nacht- 
forschender  Magus"  occur. — C. 


94  Zbc  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

medical  investigations  went  historical,  philological,  es- 
thetic, and  juristic  studies,  in  which  we  can  plainly  see 
Goethe's  bent  toward  nature  and  empiricism.  Wherever 
in  his  reading  he  finds  anything  about  the  superiority  of 
that  which  is  original  and  drawn  from  experience  over 
musty  theory  and  that  which  is  merely  learned,  it  evokes 
a  lively  echo  in  his  breast. 

In  Frankfort  we  find  but  Httle  Uterary  activity.  He 
gives  the  finishing  touch  to  the  Leipsic  compositions,  and 
works  at  a  story  and  a  farce  of  which  we  know  nothing 
defiaite.  A  period  in  which  he  ploughed  and  sowed  and  his 
heart  lay  fallow  w^as  not  calculated  to  produce  a  harvest. 

At  the  approach  of  the  following  spring,  Goethe  found 
his  health,  and  especially  his  spirits,  so  far  renewed  that  he 
felt  able  to  complete  his  study  of  the  law  at  another  uni- 
versity. At  least,  he  desired  to  get  away  from  Frankfort 
again  as  soon  as  possible.  The  heavy  air  at  home  weighed 
upon  him,  and  his  relations  with  his  father  were  in  the 
highest  degree  unrefreshing.  When  his  father,  impatient 
at  the  long,  unwelcome  interruption  of  his  son's  career, 
often  offended  him  most  painfully  by  suggesting  that  only 
a  little  will-power  was  needful  to  start  things  going  again, 
Goethe  insulted  him  in  turn  by  boyish,  thoughtless  contra- 
diction and  by  precocious  criticism,  which  put  his  father's 
taste  and  insight  in  an  evil  light.  There  were  painful 
collisions,  that  caused  wounds  which  the  mother  was  able 
to  heal  only  in  a  limited  measure. 

The  elder  Goethe  had  selected  Strasburg  as  the  second 
university  for  his  son.  After  securing  his  degree,  Goethe 
was  to  travel  through  France  and  live  in  Paris  for  some 
time.  He  was  quite  in  favour  of  these  plans,  which  promised 
him  so  much  pleasure,  and  at  the  the  end  of  March,  1770, 
with  as  light  a  heart  as  before  in  the  autimin  of  1765,  he 
left  his  native  city. 


VIII 

STRASBURG 

Fondness  for  Alsatia — Return  of  health — Table  d'hote  companions — 
Salzmann — Lerse — Jung-Stilling — Tour  of  Lower  Alsatia  and 
northern  Lorraine — Cards  and  dancing — Power  of  fascination — 
Study  of  law — Candidate's  examination — Study  of  medicine — 
Self -culture — The  cathedral — Von  deutscher  Baukunst. 

GOETHE  chose  the  most  glowing  colours  for  the  por- 
trayal of  his  life  in  Alsatia,  We  can  feel  the 
happy  charm  with  which  his  memory  clung  to  the 
year  and  a  half  which  he  spent  there.  His  style  becomes 
more  exalted,  warmer,  more  fluent, — indeed  it  takes  on  at 
times  a  fanciful  tinge.  He  calls  the  land  the  new  paradise, 
and  it  afifords  him  ever-fresh  delight  to  bring  it  before  us. 
He  takes  us  now  to  the  high  tower  of  Strasburg,  now  to 
the  heights  of  the  Vosges,  now  to  a  gentle  undulation  in 
the  plain.  Wherever  there  opens  up  a  wide  prospect  he 
spreads  it  out  before  us  in  its  gorgeous  splendour  and  blessed 
abundance.  He  can  never  speak  of  this  dear  land  without 
applying  to  it  some  adjective  of  praise. ^s  Even  the  air 
must  always  appear  exceptionally  fresh  and  clear. 

According  to  the  poet's  statement  he  was  filled  at  the 
very  first  moment  with  a  joyful  enthusiasm  for  his  new 
home.  -,.  Immediately  after  his  arrival  he  had  hastened  to 
the  top  of  the  cathedral,  and  as  the  broad,  rich  country  un- 
folded before  his  eyes  in  the  bright  sunlight  he  had  thanked 
the  good  fortune  that  had  bestowed  upon  him  such  a 
beautiful  dwelHng-place  for  some  time  to  come. 

In   reality    the    pleasure   at   first   was   not   unalloyed. 

95 


96  Zbc  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

Neither  the  convalescent,  nor  the  native  of  Frankfort,  who 
had  come  from  the  beautiful  and  fruitful  regions  of  the 
Main  and  the  Rhine,  could  be  so  completely  carried  away 
by  the  quiet  charms  of  the  Alsatian  landscape.  But  the 
joy  of  hfe,  which  came  to  him  in  ever-increasing  measure 
after  the  first  dull  weeks,  filled  him  with  a  glow  of  health 
and  happiness  which  he  had  never  before  felt,  and  gave  a 
golden  hue  to  every  corner  of  the  country;  and  what  the 
reality  had  lacked  was  supplied  by  the  glamour  of  memory 
when,  on  looking  back,  Alsatia,  where  he  had  experienced 
his  physical  and  intellectual  regeneration,  appeared  to  the 
poet  a  homogeneous  picture  bathed  in  a  flood  of  light. 

Early  in  April  Wolfgang  arrived  in  Strasburg,  in  a  still 
uncertain  state  of  health.  As  he  entered  the  one-time 
imperial  city,  he  had  a  presentiment  that  it  would  here  be 
decided  whether  or  not  he  should  pass  the  remainder  of  the 
most  important  years  of  his  development  as  an  invalid,  and 
whether  or  not  his  lofty  youthful  dreams  of  future  happiness 
and  future  greatness  should  vanish  like  soap-bubbles  in  the 
air.  Harassed  by  such  doubts,  he  had  scarcely  descended 
at  the  Wirtshaus  zum  Geist  when  he  opened  a  little  memo- 
randum-book which  Councillor  Moritz  had  given  him  for  the 
journey,  and  found  the  Bible  verse:  "Enlarge  the  place  of 
thy  tent,  and  let  them  stretch  forth  the  curtains  of  thine 
habitations ;  spare  not ;  lengthen  thy  cords,  and  strengthen 
thy  stakes.  For  thou  shalt  spread  abroad  on  the  right 
hand  and  on  the  left,"  and  he  was  wonderfully  moved. 
This  comforting  exhortation  of  the  sacred  oracle  may  have 
helped  to  preserve  the  tender,  trustful,  religious  frame  of 
mind  which  had  come  upon  him  under  the  influence  of 
Fraulein  von  Klettenberg  and  his  illness. 

"  I  am  still  just  as  I  used  to  be,"  he  writes  in  the  first 
days  in  Strasburg  to  his  Leipsic  friend  Limprecht,  "except 
that  I  am  better  reconciled  with  the  Lord  our  God  and  with 
his  dear  son,  Jesus  Christ."  "Whoever  cannot,  hke  Eli- 
ezer,"  he  preaches  a  few  months  later  to  a  friend  in 
Worms,  "with  perfect  faith  in  the  constant  providence  of 
God,  trust  the  fate  of  a  whole  future  world  to  the  watering 


Strasburg  97 

of  his  camels,*  is  indeed  in  a  sorry  plight;  there  is  no  help 
for  him.  For  what  counsel  could  there  be  for  him,  who 
will  not  be  counselled  of  God?  .  .  .  Reflections  are  a 
trivial  commodity,  but  in  prayer  there  is  ver}^  great  profit; 
a  single  welling  up  in  the  heart  in  the  name  of  him  whom 
we  call  a  Lord,  until  we  can  address  him  as  our  Lord,  and 
we  are  overv\^helmed  with  countless  blessings.  .  .  .  The 
heavenly  physician  has  again  renewed  the  flame  of  life 
within  me." 

Strasburg,  where  there  was  little  at  that  time  beside  the 
garrison  and  the  officials  to  remind  one  that  it  belonged  to 
France,  made  upon  Goethe  at  his  arrival  a  humble  im- 
pression. "It  is  not  a  hair's  breadth  better  or  worse  than 
ever\^thing  else  I  know  in  the  world,  that  is  to  say,  very 
ordinar3,\"  This  is  his  opinion  after  the  first  fortnight. 
But  the  more  his  dull  eyes  brightened,  the  higher  the  city 
rose  in  his  estimation. 

No  small  share  in  this  revolution  must  be  attributed  to 
his  table  companions.  He  dined  at  the  table  d'hote  kept 
by  some  maiden  ladies  by  the  name  of  Lauth  in  the  Knob- 
lochsgasse,  and  found  there  a  very  pleasant  circle.  There 
were  at  first  about  ten,  later  twenty,  good  fellows  in  the 
company,  almost  all  pursuing  some  higher  calling,  most  of 
them  students  of  medicine.  The  leader  was  Johann  Daniel 
Salzmann,  clerk  of  the  Probate  Court,  a  bachelor  of  forty- 
eight  years,  who  administered  his  office  with  the  greatest 
care  for  the  welfare  of  widows  and  orphans.  From  his 
reading,  thought,  and  experience  he  had  gathered  a  rich 
fund  of  worldly  wisdom,  and  as  to  this  he  added  gentleness, 
dignity,  and  manliness,  and  was  of  mature  age,  the  leader- 
ship of  the  Round  Table  had  for  years  devolved  upon  him. 
His  lively  interest  in  Hterature  held  his  young  companions 
together,  not  only  at  the  table  d'hote,  but  also  in  a  society 
of  belles-lettres, 2^  in  which  he  likewise  wielded  the  sceptre. 
Of  all  the  company  it  was  he  to  whom  Goethe  became  most 
attached,  and  he  in  turn  grew  very  fond  of  the  youth  of  such 
refinement  and  such  ambition.     Nearest  to  Salzmann  in 

VOL.  I.— 7.  *  >r-i     /-> 

*  Cf.  Gen  XXIV. 


98  TOe  Xlfe  of  (Boctbe 

age  was  a  knight  of  the  order  of  Saint  Louis,  as  Goethe 
calls  a  pensioned  French  captain  without  saying  anything 
further  about  his  name,  a  most  eccentric  man,  with  the 
fixed  idea  that  all  virtue  comes  from  good  memory  and  all 
vice  from  forgetfulness,  and  that  he,  alas!  was  afflicted  with 
this  source  of  all  evil.  Another  member  of  the  company 
was  the  theological  student,  Franz  Lerse,  of  Buchsweiler  in 
Alsatia,  Goethe's  favourite  friend,  immortalised  in  Gotz. 
His  neat,  clean  outward  appearance  corresponded  to  his 
inner  life.  He  was  an  honest,  clear-headed,  determined 
youth,  with  a  pure  and  noble  soul,  which  won  for  him  the 
confidence  of  all,  and  fitted  him  to  act  as  peacemaker  when- 
ever a  dispute  arose.  His  love  of  art  and  poetry,  and  his 
dry  humour,  roiinded  out  a  pleasing  personality.  The 
medical  student,  Meyer  von  Lindau,  was  of  a  wholly  differ- 
ent nature,  uncommonly  handsome,  gifted,  witty,  but  of 
an  irrepressible  levity.  Of  the  remaining  members  of  the 
company  two  other  Alsatians  were  closely  associated  with 
Goethe:  the  theological  student,  Weyland,  and  the  law 
student  Engelbach,  the  latter  only  for  the  first  few  months. 
The  society  received  a  valuable  addition  at  the  beginning 
of  the  second  semester  in  the  person  of  Heinrich  Jung, 
called  Stilling.  He  was  a  man  of  great  tenderness  and  a 
deeply  religious  nature,  who  only  now,  at  the  age  of  thirty, 
after  strange  vicissitudes,  had  reached  the  point  when  he 
could  devote  himself  to  the  study  of  medicine.  His  un- 
alterable faith  in  God  rested  upon  the  manifold  ups  and 
downs  in  his  life,  in  which  he  believed  he  could  recognise 
everywhere  God's  providence.  Furthermore,  he  was  thor- 
oughly educated  and  highly  appreciative  of  all  that  is  good 
and  beautiful.  He  had  come  with  an  elderly  surgeon  by 
the  name  of  Troost,  who  wished  to  inform  himself  of  the 
recent  progress  in  his  art,  and  had  appeared  at  the  Lauths' 
table  d'hote.  The  description  which  he  gave  of  his  ar- 
rival is  such  a  faithful  picture  of  himself,  Goethe,  and  the 
entire  company,  that  we  may  insert  it  here,  with  a  few 
omissions,  in  the  place  of  an  illustration:  "About  twenty 
persons  dined  at  the  table,  and  they  [Stilling  and  Troost] 


Straeburg  99 

saw  them  come  in  one  after  another.  They  noticed  es- 
pecially one  young  man  with  large  bright  eyes,  splendid 
brow,  and  beautiful  figure,  who  entered  in  high  spirits, 
Troost  said  to  Stilling:  'That  must  be  an  extraordinary 
man.'  wStilHng  assented,  but  thought  that  they  should 
both  be  greatly  annoyed  by  him,  for  he  considered  him  a 
wild  fellow.  This  he  concluded  from  the  student's  free 
bearing;  but  Stilling  was  greatly  mistaken.  Meanwhile 
they  noticed  that  this  distinguished  person  was  addressed 
as  Herr  Goethe.  .  .  .  Herr  Troost  whispered  to  Still- 
ing :  '  The  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  keep  silent  for  a  fort- 
night.' StiUing  recognised  the  wisdom  of  the  remark,  and 
so  they  kept  silent,  and  nobody  paid  any  especial  attention 
to  them,  except  that  Goethe  occasionally  rolled  his  eyes 
toward  them ;  he  sat  opposite  Stilling  and  without  seeking 
the  honour  ruled  the  table.  .  .  .  Herr  Troost  was 
handsomely  and  fashionably  dressed ;  Stilling  tolerably  so. 
He  wore  a  dark  brown  suit  and  Manchester  trousers ;  but 
he  still  possessed  a  round  wig,  which  he  wished  to  alternate 
with  his  bag  wigs  until  it  should  be  worn  out.  Once  he 
came  to  the  table  with  it  on.  Nobody  took  offence  at  it 
but  Herr  Waldberg  von  Wien  (probably  Meyer).  This 
man  looked  at  him,  and,  as  he  had  already  heard  that 
Stilling  was  very  enthusiastic  over  religion,  began  by  asking 
him,  whether  Adam  might  perchance  have  worn  a  round 
wig  in  Paradise.  All  laughed  heartily  except  Salzmann, 
Goethe,  and  Troost;  they  did  not  laugh.  Stilling  tingled 
with  anger  and  answered :  '  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
this  mockery!  Such  a  commonplace  idea  is  not  worthy  of 
being  laughed  at.'  Goethe  interrupted  and  said:  'First 
try  a  man,  whether  he  be  worthy  of  mockery!  It  is  dia- 
bolical to  make  sport  of  a  righteous  man  who  has  never 
offended  any  one!'  From  that  time  on  Herr  Goethe  took 
an  interest  in  Stilling,  sought  him  out,  became  his  intimate 
friend,  and  endeavoured  on  all  occasions  to  show  his  love 
for  him." 

Jung  had  not  yet  arrived  in  Strasburg  when  Goethe,  on 
St.  John's  day,  1770,  made  a  journey  to  Lower  Alsatia  and 


loo  Zl)c  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

(^  northern  Lorraine  with  Weyland,  who  had  a  numerous 
acquaintance  and  many  relatives  in  that  country.  Engel- 
bach  was  their  companion  as  far  as  Saarbriicken.  The 
friends  first  rode  to  Zabern,  where  they  admired  the  bishop's 
palace  and  the  daring  mountain  road,  Die  Zaberner  Steige, 
then  to  Buchsweiler,  where  Weyland's  parents  gave  them 
a  warm  welcome ;  from  there  over  the  Bastberg,  where  the 

^^'   petrified  shells  engrossed  Goethe's  attention,  to  Liitzelstein, 
and  then  through  the  valley  of  the  Saar  down  to  Saar- 

u  briicken.  Here  Goethe  came  into  a  rich  industrial  terri- 
tory, which,  thanks  to  his  relations  with  the  Saarbriicken 
president,  von  Giinderode,  he  was  enabled  to  examine 
thoroughly.  The  operation  of  coal  mines,  glass-works,  iron- 
works, alum-works,  and  other  industrial  establishments 
charmed  his  great  eyes,  peering  about  on  every  side,  and 
inspired  him  for  the  first  time  with  the  love  of  technical 
and  economic  enterprises,  which  he  evinced  in  so  many 
ways  in  his  later  official  career  in  Weimar.  After  the 
friends  had  taken  leave  of  Engelbach  in  Saarbriicken, 
where  he  had  received  a  councillorship,  they  returned  via 
"^  Zweibrucken  to  Alsatia,  entering  the  country  at  the  rocky 
fortress  of  Bitsch.  On  their  further  journey  through  the 
Barenthal,  where  thousands  of  trees  were  rotting  in  the 
primeval  forests,  Goethe  found  more  iron- works  and  coal 
mines,  while  in  the  baths  of  Niederbronn  he  plunged  into 
the  spirit  of  antiquity,  and  the  ruined  fragments  of  reliefs, 
capitals,  and  columns,  which  looked  out  strangely  upon 
him  from  the  midst  of  peasant  cottages,  furnished  him  not 
long  after  with  a  finely  toned  background  for  his  Wandrer. 
Goethe  asserts  that  he  proceeded  via  Reichshofen  and  Ha- 
genau  and  made  a  visit  at  the  parsonage  in  Sesenheim, 
but  we  know  that  he  did  not  enter  this  remarkable  house 
till  some  months  later. 

Returning  from  the  beautiful  journey  refreshed  in  body 
and  spirit,  he  gave  himself  over  more  and  more  to  a  more 
cheerful,  varied  social  life.  To  be  sure,  he  soon  gave  up 
association  with  the  pious  people  to  whom  he  had  brought 
an  introduction  from  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg,  for  they, 


Straeburg  loi 

lacking  the  spirituality  of  his  friend,  soon  became  an  in- 
tolerable bore  to  him  with  their  monotonous  ' '  edifying  dis- 
course." On  the  other  hand,  Salzmann  had  introduced  him 
into  a  number  of  families,  where  he  passed  many  hours. 
Intercourse  with  these  families  created  within  him  a  feeling 
of  the  need  of  cultivating  his  social  talents,  now  so  long 
neglected,  and  while  he  had  defied  Frau  Bohme's  counsel 
that  he  should  learn  to  play  cards,  he  now  willingly  followed 
the  same  advice  from  his  fatherly  friend.  He  also  over- 
came his  old  dislike  of  dancing,  and  after  he  had  gone  to  the 
balls  in  the  suburbs  and  danced  with  the  prettily  dressed 
maids,  to  try  if  he  were  able  to  keep  time,  he  went  to  a 
French  dancing-master  for  instruction. 

These  lessons  were  the  means  of  bringing  Goethe  into  a 
Httle  love  episode  ^^  which  was  destined  to  open  his  eyes  to 
his  dangerous  power  of  fascination.  The  dancing  master 
had  two  pretty  yoimg  daughters,  who  helped  their  father 
in  his  instruction.  The  new  pupil  exerted  a  magnetic  in- 
fluence over  the  hearts  of  both,  but  more  powerfully  over 
that  of  the  older,  Lucinde;  but  Emilie,  too,  the  younger, 
who  had  already  given  away  her  heart  and  hand,  began 
after  some  time  to  be  afraid  of  the  handsome  student.  She 
begged  him.  not  to  come  to  her  house,  a  request  with  which 
he  could  the  more  readily  comply,  she  added,  as  he  had 
already  completed  the  course  in  dancing  with  great  success. 
"And  in  order  that  it  may  really  be  the  last  time  that  we 
speak  with  each  other,  take,"  she  said,  "what  I  should  other- 
wise have  refused  you,"  and  kissed  him  most  lovingly.  At 
this  moment  the  side  door  flew  open,  Lucinde  burst  in  and 
overwhelmed  her  sister  with  passionate  reproaches,  saying 
that  this  was  not  the  first  heart  she  had  robbed  her  of,  and 
that  her  sister's  triumphs  had  cost  her  thousands  of  tears. 
"Now  you  have  taken  him  away  from  me.  ...  I 
know  that  I  have  lost  him,  but  you  shall  not  have  him 
either."  With  these  words  she  caught  Goethe  by  the  head, 
to  his  confusion  and  astonishment,  and  kissed  him  re- 
peatedly on  the  mouth.  "  Fear  my  curse;  misfortune  upon 
misfortune  for  ever  and  ever  upon  the  first  girl  who  after 


I02  Zbc  %\tc  of  (Boetbc 

me  kisses  these  lips!"  She  thought  that  this  curse  would 
fall  upon  her  sister.  Goethe  withdrew  from  her  uncanny 
caresses  and  left  the  house,  never  to  return. 

If  we  find  Goethe  toward  the  end  of  the  first  semester 
already  associating  with  a  large  number  of  friends  scattered 
far  and  wide ;  find  him  now  in  Strasburg  and  now  away  on 
journeys;  and  if,  as  we  shall  soon  have  occasion  to  do,  we 
find  him,  in  addition  to  these  social  distractions,  engaged  in 
manifold  ways  in  the  study  of  art  and  science,  we  shall  ask 
ourselves  with  some  concern,  as  his  father  must  have  done, 
"  What  is  the  state  of  his  law  studies?  Is  his  Leipsic  habit 
repeating  itself  here;  is  his  insatiable  thirst  for  knowledge 
and  society  drawing  the  young  man  away  from  his  first 
duties,  and  undermining  his  foundation  for  the  future?" 

Fate,  which  was  so  often  friendly  to  him,  had,  to  his  good 
fortune,  brought  him  to  Strasburg.  Although  the  city  was 
still  entirely  German,  yet  at  the  university  French  ways 
had  gained  a  certain  footing.  In  the  study  of  law  the 
practical  tendency  of  the  French  was  followed,"  and  the  stu- 
dent was  not  required  to  know  anything  about  the  histor- 
ical and  philosophical  development  of  the  law,  but  solely 
and  simply  to  know  the  law  in  force.  This  knowledge 
was  acquired  without  any  special  effort  by  the  aid  of  so- 
called  tutors,  or,  as  we  call  them  nowadays,  "coaches." 
Goethe  took  advantage  of  such  assistance,  and  as  he  had 
made  good  use  of  his  last  days  in  Frankfort,  and  remembered 
more  than  he  thought  from  his  boyhood  study  and  from  the 
years  at  Leipsic,  he  succeeded,  in' spite  of  all  serious  and 
trifling  abjections,  in  passing  his  candidate's  examination 
with  great  ease  at  the  end  of  the  summer  semester.  From 
now  on  he  was  relieved  of  the  duty  of  attending  lectures; 
there  remained  for  him  only  the  writing  of  a  dissertation  in 
order  to  obtain  the  doctor's  degree  and  open  up  for  himself 
the  career  of  a  jurist.  The  dissertation,  for  the  preparation 
of  which  he  allotted  himself  the  space  of  a  year,  claimed  very 
little  of  his  attention.  Consequently,  from  October,  1770, 
on,  much  of  his  time  was  free. 

A  less   sterling   nature   than   his  would   have   degener- 


Strasburg  103 

ated  with  his  abundant  leisure,  the  temptations  of  a  hberal 
allowance  of  money,  an  extensive  and  interesting  acquaint- 
ance, youthful  spirits,  and  the  favour  which  he  found  with 
women.  For  him  these  were  but  the  means  of  completing 
the  magnificent  harmony  of  his  mind.  A  large  part  of  his 
spare  time  he  spent  in  broadening  his  knowledge  of  medi- 
cine. His  interest  in  this  science  had  been  aroused  by  his 
table  companions  at  Privy  Councillor  Ludwig's  in  Leipsic. 
In  Frankfort  he  had  continued  the  study  in  his  sick-room, 
and  in  Strasburg  he  scarcely  needed  the  daily  intercourse 
with  medical  students  to  incite  him  to  inform  himself  on 
the  subject.  With  as  much  thoroughness  as  if  medicine 
were  to  be  his  future  calling,  he  pursued  this  study  from 
the  beginning  of  the  second  semester.  He  worked  in  the 
dissecting-room,  attended  the  cHnical  lectiu-es  on  internal 
medicine  and  obstetrics,  and  did  not  neglect  the  auxiliary 
sciences,  such  as  chemistry,*  for  which  he  had  nourished  a 
secret  preference.  In  this  way  he  began  to  make  himself 
at  home  in  a  field  in  which  he  was  later  to  arrive  at  very 
important  results. 

One  secondary  effect  of  his  study  of  medicine  was  not 
unwelcome  to  him.  It  cured  him  of  all  horror  of  the  ugli- 
ness or  loathsomeness  of  a  diseased  or  dead  body.  He  also 
sought  to  rid  himself  of  other  physical  and  moral  weak- 
nesses. Thus  he  overcame  the  feeling  of  dizziness  by 
climbing  to  the  highest  point  on  the  cathedral,  where  he  sat 
in  the  so-called  neck  just  below  the  lantern  for  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  arbd  then  stepped  out  upon  a  ledge, 
scarcely  a  square  yard  in  size,  which  made  him  feel  as  if  he 
were  hovering  in  the  air.  He  repeated  this  experiment 
until  he  could  walk  about  on  the  dizziest  places  with  perfect 
security.  In  a  similar  manner  he  rid  himself  of  his  sensi- 
tiveness to  loud  noises.  In  the  evening  at  the  beating  of 
the  tattoo  he  would  walk  along  by  the  drummers,  even 
though  the  rolling  of  the  drums  was  almost  enough  to 

*  This  statement  is  based  on  Goethe's  letter  to  Fraulein  von  Kletten- 
berg  {Br.,  i.,  247),  where  Chytnie  is  the  word  used,  but  it  means  in  this  case 
"alchemy,"  not  "chemistry." — C. 


I04  Zhc  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

rupture  the  very  heart  in  his  breast.  Also  his  secret  fear 
of  graveyards,  churches,  and  other  lonely  places  at  night 
he  so  completely  eradicated  by  repeated  visits  that  later  in 
life  he  was  hardly  able,  with  all  the  artifices  of  his  imagin- 
ation, to  recall  again  the  shudderings  of  his  youth. 

It  would  not  have  been  worth  while  to  mention  all  these 
little  traits  of  the  poet,  if  it  were  not  that  they  illustrate  his 
strict  self -culture  and  the  extraordinary  energy  he  applied 
to  overcome  his  weaknesses.  Who,  of  the  many  thousands 
of  brave  men  who  suffer  from  dizziness,  would  imitate  his 
break-neck  attempts  to  discipline  himself  on  the  spire  of  the 
cathedral?  To  him,  indeed,  it  seemed  worth  while  to  climb 
to  the  finial  of  the  highest  pinnacle  of  the  tower,  and  not  to 
brook  any  hindrances  whatever.  For  the  glorious  work  of 
Ervinus  a  Steinbach  was  to  him  from  the  very  first  moment 

l^  an  ever-increasing  source  of  deepest  pleasure.  Here  he 
became  acquainted  with  a  work  of  art  of  such  greatness, 
sublimity,  and  beauty  as  he  had  never  before  seen.  It 
filled  his  soul  as  with  the  joys  of  heaven,  and  he  returned  to 
it  evening  and  morning  to  view  it  on  all  sides,  from  all  dis- 
tances, and  in  every  light.  "  How  often  the  evening  twi- 
light with  its  pleasant  stillness,"  he  exclaims  a  few  months 
after  his  departure  from  Strasburg  in  an  essay  on  German 

'  architecture,  "has  refreshed  my  eyes,  wearied  with  close 
looking,  as  it  melted  the  countless  parts  into  great  masses, 
and  these  stood  before  my  soul  in  their  simplicity  and 
greatness!  What  a  fresh  impression  the  cathedral  made 
upon  me  in  the  morning  haze,  how  joyfully  I  stretched  out 
my  arms  toward  it,  and  beheld  the  great  harmonious  mass 
full  of  life  down  to  the  minutest  parts!  "  The  mighty  work 
seemed  to  him  not  a  product  of  human  hands  but  a  creation 
of  nature,  everything  perfect  in  form,  even  to  the  smallest 
details,  everything  subordinated  to  the  whole.  In  anger 
he  cast  aside  the  old  erroneous  esthetic  doctrines  of  the 
want  of  taste  in  Gothic  art.  He  had  been  taught  to  inter- 
pret Gothic  as  meaning  anything  irregular,  unnatural,  or 
full  of  contradiction,  but  now  it  seemed  to  him  to  mean  the 
highest  possible  degree  of  regularity,  naturalness,  and  har- 


Straebura  105 

mony.  And  what  had  been  designated  as  patchwork  and 
over-adornment  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  most  natural,  most 
suggestive,  most  beautiful  ornamentation,  the  invention 
of  a  divinely  inspired  genius,  to  reUeve  the  weight  of  the 
mass  and  give  to  the  whole  structure  the  impression  of 
permanent  solidity  and  pleasing  gracefulness.  Mere  looking 
and  admiring  did  not  satisfy  him  long.  He  began  to  in- 
vestigate, to  measure,  to  draw.  He  endeavoured  to  produce 
in  his  drawing  all  that  was  lacking  and  all  that  was  com- 
pleted, studying  especially  the  tower.  To  his  fine  eye  it 
seemed  probable  that  for  the  tower  a  five-pointed  crown 
had  been  the  original  plan,  a  supposition  which,  to  his  joyful 
satisfaction,  was  confirmed  by  the  original  drawing. 

The  youth  who,  on  French  soil,  was  glowing  with  en- 
thusiasm for  his  fatherland,  thought  it  permissible  to 
consider  Gothic  as  the  genuine  German  style ;  and  in  his  en- 
thusiasm he  renamed  the  Gothic  German,  and  in  the  re-  / 
verberating  echo  of  his  studies  of  the  Strasburg  cathedral, 
Von  deutscher  Baukunst  D.  M*  Ervini  a  Steinbach,  he  set 
forth  to  the  world  with  a  tongue  of  fire  the  glory  of  this 
style. 

*  D.  M.  =  divis  manibus,  a  formula  common  in  ancient  Roman  inscrip)- 
tions. — C. 


IX 

THE   BEGINNING   OF   THE    LITERARY   REVOLUTION 

Origin  of  the  Stonn-and-Stress  movement — Sovereignty  of  genius — Con- 
formity to  nature — Folk-poetry — Herder  the  spirit  of  the  revolu- 
tion— Goethe  the  leader — Herder's  influence — His  conception  of 
poetry — His  views  on  Shakespeare  and  folk-poetry — Shakespeare's 
influence  on  Goethe — Homer's  influence — Ossian's — Goethe's 
influence  on  his  companions — French  literature  condemned — 
Lenz — Moderating  influences. 

GOETHE'S  faith  in  the  prevaiHng  doctrine  of  esthetics 
received  no  less  a  shock  from  the  contemplation 
of  Erv^nus's  beautiful  monument  towering  up  into 
the  heavens  than  it  had  previously  experienced  from  the 
reading  of  Lessing's  Laokoon.  Indeed  the  effect  of  the 
cathedral  was  as  much  profounder  than  that  of  the  book 
had  been,  as  must  always  be  the  case  with  a  work  of 
art  compared  with  one  of  criticism.  At  the  same  time 
it  confirmed  in  him  the  conception,  already  dimly  fore- 
shadowed in  his  consciousness,  of  the  beautiful  and  of  the 
power  of  genius.  It  opened  wide  the  portals  of  his  soul  to 
a  new  revelation  of  the  world,  of  life,  and  of  art — a  revela- 
tion that  swept  over  him  in  Strasburg  and  found  in  him  its 
most  inspired  disciple  and  most  glorious  fulfilment. 

For  this  new  revelation,  the  effect  of  which  Goethe 
rightly  characterises  as  the  German  literary  revolution,  the 
way  had  long  been  preparing. 

The  Thirty  Years'  War  had  buried  the  culture  and 
material  prosperity  of  Germany  beneath  its  ruins,  and 
through  its  endless  division  into  tiny  states  the  nation  had 
degenerated  into  narrowness  and  insignificance.     "  Miser- 

io6 


Beoinnlng  of  tbe  Xlterar^  IRevoIutlon    107 

able  "  and  "  petty  "  :  these  two  words  characterise  German 
conditions  in  the  century  from  1648  to  1740.  The  recupera- 
tive power  inherent  in  the  German  people  was,  however, 
too  great  to  permit  them  to  continue  in  this  pitiful  state. 
As  the  upward  struggle  was  slow  in  the  material  world,  so 
also  in  the  intellectual. 

From  1740  on  we  see  the  German  mind  now  here,  now 
there,  now  under  this  form,  now  under  that,  rebelling 
against  the  indolence,  perversity,  and  narrow-mindedness 
into  which  it  had  sunk.  In  the  south,  from  the  theory  of 
the  Swiss  critics,  in  the  north,  from  the  deeds  of  the  Prussian 
king,  there  sprang  a  refreshing  breeze  which  waked  the 
imagination,  mother  of  everything  significant. 

The  appearance  of  Frederick  the  Second  furthermore 
aroused  the  Germans  to  a  consciousness  of  the  miserable 
life  they  had  been  leading.  His  personality  as  well  as  his 
state,  that  towered  boldly  amid  the  crazy,  rotten  scaffolds 
of  the  other  German  governments  like  some  formidable, 
well-planned  fortress,  stirred  the  ambition  of  all  youthful 
souls,  whether  friends  or  enemies. 

It  was  certainly  no  mere  chance  that  three  of  the  re- 
formers of  German  intellectual  life,  whose  influence  was 
especially  due  to  the  greatness  of  their  thoughts  (Winckel- 
mann,  Hamann,  Herder),  came  from  Prussia,  and  that  two 
others  (Klopstock  and  Lessing)  were  in  large  measure  under 
Prussian  influence. 

After  Klopstock  had  restored  the  emotional  life  of  Ger- 
many, Lessing  raised  his  gleaming  sword,  and  with  a 
mighty  blow  freed  the  nation  from  the  bondage  of  erroneous 
theories  of  art,  false  slavery  to  rules,  dead  literalism,  and 
cold  orthodoxy.  And  he  followed  his  scathing  criticism  by 
literary  creations  in  which  he  vied  with  Klopstock  in  wean- 
ing his  countrymen  from  platitude  and  mediocrity. 

But  the  ploughshare  had  to  sink  deeper  into  the  German 
intellectual  soil  before  new  seed  could  spring  up  with  vigour. 
Such  an  upheaval  was  also  favoured  by  the  longing  of  the 
age.  The  aggressive  young  men  especially  were  opposed  to 
improving  what  was  already  in  existence.     Not  reformation, 


io8  ^be  %itc  of  (Boetbe 

but  revolution,  was  their  unuttered  watchword.  And  thus 
the  way  was  preparing  for  an  epoch  in  which  greatness 
failed  to  satisfy,  and  the  monstrous  and  the  incomprehen- 
sible were  demanded,  when  the  clear  and  distinct  must  give 
way  to  the  chiaroscuro,  which  makes  us  divine  and  imagine 
heavenly  truths  and  beauties  which  reason  and  eyesight 
cannot  discern.  For  it  was  felt  instinctively  that  the 
visible  and  the  tangible,  that  which  can  be  demonstrated 
and  taught,  cannot  be  final;  there  must  be  something  be- 
yond our  vision,  dimly  apprehensible  to  the  prophetic  soul. 
Therefore  people  turned  their  backs  upon  rationalistic 
doctrines  and  enlightenment  as  upon  credulous  submission 
to  dogma,  system,  or  text-book.  Esthetic  and  religious 
mysticism,  on  the  other  hand,  was  embraced  with  ardour. 
And  the  tendency  in  this  direction  was  the  more  natural 
because  Germany  was  so  barren  and  prosaic  that  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  be  intoxicated  with  exalted  mysticism  and 
fanciful  dreams.  Through  this  philosophy  the  people  came 
into  touch  with  secret  forces  that  permeate  the  universe, 
and  the  more  insignificant  the  individual  was  in  an  absolute 
government,  and  the  more  he  felt  himself  a  mere  cipher,  a 
puppet,  taxed  in  blood  and  money,  the  more  he  was  de- 
lighted to  be  a  part  of  the  infinite,  the  world-spirit,  and  to 
share  in  a  sovereignty  which  scoffed  at  the  contemptible 
duodecimo  sovereignties  of  this  world. 

The  divine  element  in  the  individual  was  his  genius. 
This  genius  could  claim  absolute  independence  of  all  human 
laws  in  life,  art,  and  science.  What  man  had  fixed  upon 
and  established  was  tyrannical,  arbitrary,  unjust.  Ac- 
cordingly salvation  could  not  lie  in  obedience  to  laws  and 
rules,  but  solely  in  obedience  to  genius.  Whoever  cared  to 
advance  victoriously  must  follow  its  leading,  that  is  to  say, 
must  not  be  a  slave  to  rules,  nor  an  imitator, — he  must 
be  original. 

Beside  the  voice  of  one's  own  genius  the  pure  revelation 
of  the  divine  spirit  was  found  only  in  nature.  Hence 
"Conformity  to  Nature," — the  watch-cry,  now  serious,  now 
frivolous,  of  the  more  highly  organised,  ambitious  youth. 


Beginning  of  the  literary  IRevolution    109 

Accordingly  they  found  the  highest  and  greatest  achieve- 
ments of  man  in  that  poetry  in  which  individuals  or  nations 
had  not  followed  hard-and-fast  rules,  but  solely  the  in-_ 
spiration  of  genius;  among  the  Greeks  it  was  Homer; 
among  the  Scots,  the  Celtic  bard  Ossian;  among  the  Eng- 
lish, Shakespeare;  it  was,  furthermore,  found  in  the  Bible 
and  in  folk-song.  In  this  way  the  young  generation  sought' 
to  gain  at  least  an  inner  freedom,  and  obtain  the  rights  of 
every  individual  to  natural  development  and  freedom  of 
movement,  at  least  in  the  realm  of  the  spirit.  Outwardly 
the  state  and  society  put  shackles  upon  their  hands  and 
feet,  put  wigs  upon  their  heads,  daubed  their  faces  with  paint 
or  dusted  them  with  powder,  and  checked  the  free  move- 
ment of  their  bodies  by  ornamental  cuffs  and  frills.  A 
young  generation  with  such  strong,  passionate  feelings 
needed  sympathetic  souls  to  whom  they  could  unburden 
their  hearts ;  hence  there  developed  in  Germany  such  a  cult 
of  friendship  as  was  never  known.  A  young  generation  with 
the  consciousness  of  such  power  and  sovereignty  had  need 
of  action.  But  as  either  nothing  was  being  done  in  the 
sleepy,  monotonous  burgher  life  of  the  fatherland,  or 
everything  that  was  done  descended  upon  the  masses  of 
the  governed  like  rain  and  snow;  and  as  there  was  no 
effective  means  of  bringing  about  any  change  of  conditions, 
all  their  craving  for  activity  sought  an  outlet  in  poetry, 
and  here  action,  passionate,  stormy  action,  was  everywhere 
demanded.  Finally,  it  was  evident  that  the  existing  lan- 
guage was  no  longer  an  adequate  channel  for  the  new  and 
overwhelming  flood  of  feeling.  Not  the  well-ordered  flow 
of  speech,  only  an  impassioned  stammering,  an  ecstatic 
babbling,  was  capable  of  uttering  the  inner  Storm  and 
Stress. 

This  is  approximately  the  intellectual  condition,  these 
are  in  the  main  the  views,  the  aims,  and  manifestations 
which  came  to  the  front  in  Germany,  with  the  force  of  a 
genuine  revolution,  in  the  seventh  and  eighth  decades  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  from  which,  in  spite  of  all  excesses, 
an  inestimable  blessing  accrued  to  the  intellectual  life,  and 


no  Zbc  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

especially  the  poetry  of  Germany.  The  most  important  pro- 
moters of  this  movement  were  Winckelmann,  Hamann,  and 
Herder.  These  men  were  also  the  focus  for  the  rays,  which, 
coming  from  Greece,  England,  and  France,  enkindled  a  new 
fire  in  the  souls  of  German  youth.  Of  these  men,  Herder 
had  absorbed  whatever  of  inspiration  the  other  two  and 
their  forenmners  had  originated.  In  him  were  united 
Klopstock's  exalted  flight,  Lessing's  great  constructive 
criticism,  Winckelmann 's  conscious  subjectivity  and  love 
of  nature,  Hamann 's  distaste  for  rules  and  systems,  and  his 
preference  for  the  original,  the  dark  and  the  deep,  as  re- 
vealed by  contemplation  and  prophetic  intuition.  All  the 
seeds  of  the  revolution  had  been  sowed  in  his  breast,  and 
here  they  had  sprung  up  into  a  new  and  magnificent  con- 
ception of  intellectual  life.  Thus  in  1770,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-six,  he  could  be  considered  the  real  head  of  the 
German  revolutionary  movement. 

But  Herder  was  not  a  general  who  could  lead  on  to 
victory.  He  was  without  the  personal  magnetism  which 
binds  an  army,  body  and  soul,  to  their  leader ;  the  dithy- 
rambic  flights  of  his  eloquence  lacked  winning  warmth, 
and,  worst  of  all,  he  had  not  the  poetic  power  to  transform 
the  new  gospel  into  mighty  accomplishment. 

Only  one  man  possessed  these  qualifications  at  that 
time,  and  this  was  Wolfgang  Goethe.  He  was  also  the  only 
man  with  the  power  to  prevent  the  precious  ore  of  the 
movement  from  being  buried  beneath  its  dross,  and  to 
cleanse  the  raging  stream  of  the  slime  which  it  carried  along 
in  its  course,  and  spread  it  out  over  the  fields  to  enrich 
them.  What  a  wonderful  decree  of  Providence,  that  at  the 
most  opportune  moment  the  gifted  leader  of  the  revolu- 
tion came  to  this  unique  man,  communicated  his  ideas  to 
him,  and  that  thus  the  younger  but  greater  genius,  more 
certain  of  victory,  received  into  his  hands  the  staff  of  the 
field  marshal! 

Herder  arrived  in  Strasburg  in  the  early  days  of  Sep- 
tember, 1770,  as  travelling  companion  of  the  Prince  of 
Holstcin-Eutin.     Although  his  service  in  this  position  had 


Herder 
(From  the  Painting  by  von  Clraff) 


Beginning  of  tbe  Xlterar^  IRcvolution    1 1 1 

begun  no  farther  back  than  the  middle  of  June,  yet  it  had 
already  become  intolerable  to  him,  because  of  discord  with 
the  prince's  tutor,  and  because  of  its  confinement.  A  fort- 
night after  his  arrival  he  resigned.  But  an  operation  on  a 
lachrymal  fistula  compelled  him  to  prolong  his  sojourn  in 
Strasburg.  Goethe  had  hardly  heard  of  the  arrival  of  the 
prominent  man,  when  he  went  to  pay  him  his  respects. 
Being  kindly  received,  he  did  not  fail  to  repeat  his  visit. 
During  the  long  and  painful  treatment  our  student  was 
able  to  make  himself  very  useful  to  the  patient  as  a  nurse, 
and  also  by  helping  to  pass  away  the  tedious  hours  with 
chat  and  cards.  The  friendship  became  more  intimate, 
and  soon  Goethe  was  Herder's  daily  companion  in  the  sick- 
room from  morning  till  evening. 

Herder  was  only  five  years  older  than  Goethe.  But 
while  this  disparity  in  age  makes  some  difference  in  early 
life,  Herder  was  still  farther  in  advance  of  Goethe  in  wealth 
of  experience,  knowledge,  and  insight.  Goethe  was  still 
growing.  Herder  was  mature.  It  had  been  his  fortune  to 
see  a  great  deal  of  the  world.  From  Konigsberg,  where  he 
had  felt  the  determining  influence  of  Kant  and  still  more  of 
Hamann,  he  had  gone  to  Riga ;  thence  he  had  taken  a  long 
voyage,  which  brought  home  to  him  the  greatness  of  the 
sea,  which  Goethe  had  never  seen,  to  France,  and  had  spent 
six  months  in  the  country  which  was  then  the  centre  of 
culture.  In  Paris,  where  he  lived  a  month  and  a  half,  he 
had  learned  as  much  as  possible  of  "  books  and  men,  oratory 
and  the  theatre,  dancing  and  painting,  music  and  the 
people."  He  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Diderot, 
d'Alembert,  Barthelemy,  and  other  well-known  writers. 
From  Paris  he  turned  to  Brussels  and  Antwerp,  where  he 
saw  the  treasures  of  Dutch  art.  In  Leyden  he  met  the 
distinguished  philologist  Ruhnken,  and  finally  his  travels 
brought  him  to  Hamburg,  where  he  enjoyed  several  weeks 
of  Lessing's  society. 

With  a  great  fund  of  knowledge  of  the  world  and  men 
he  united  a  profound  mind  which  had  made  extensive  study 
of  ancient  and  modern  literatures  and  had  drawn  from  them 


112 


Zbc  OLlfe  of  (Boetbe 


their  finest  and  most  fruitful  thought.  As  yet  but  little 
of  what  was  stirring  his  soul  had  reached  the  public ;  beside 
a  few  trifles  he  had  just  published  his  Fragmente  tiber  die 
neuere  deutsche  Literatur,  and  his  Kritische  Wdlder.  But, 
as  Goethe  teUs  us,  all  that  he  accomplished  in  after  life 
was  already  outlined  in  his  mind.  Consequently  he  was 
prepared  to  reveal  to  his  young  friend  the  full  splendour  of 
his  treasure  of  thought. 

The  faithful  young  friend  did  not  find  it  easy  to  quench 
his  thirst  at  Herder's  fountain.  For  nature  had  blended  with 
Herder's  amiable  spirit  a  strain  of  bitterness,  and  he  was 
much  given  to  avenging  his  own  trials  and  tribulations  by 
ridiculing  other  people ;  and  the  stronger  and  more  fortunate 
the  one  with  whom  he  came  in  contact  the  more  he  indulged 
this  habit.  Thus  good-hearted  Wolfgang,  who  would 
gladly  have  anticipated  the  excellent  man's  every  wish,  was 
often  made  to  feel  the  stinging  lash  of  his  sarcasm,  so  that 
even  a  year  later  the  scars  still  smarted,  and  he  still  felt 
like  a  whipped  dog  when  he  thought  of  Herder's  sick-room. 
Herder  spared  nothing.  Now  it  was  Goethe's  name,  now 
his  false  taste,  now  his  innocent  peculiarities  or  hobbies, 
now  his  lack  of  acuteness,  upon  which  the  sage  poured  out 
his  sharp  acidity;  but  nothing  could  induce  Goethe  to 
forsake  the  great  man.  He  wrestled  with  him,  as  Jacob 
with  the  angel  of  the  Lord,  and  held  him  fast  lintil  he  re- 
ceived a  blessing. 

It  was  the  dawn  of  a  new  world,  from  which  Herder 
drew  back  the  curtain  for  him,  a  world  of  which  he  had 
often  been  vaguely  conscious,  but  which  had  as  yet  re- 
mained enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  dreams.  To  see  this  world 
now  in  reality,  and  hear  it  convincingly  portrayed  as 
beautiful  and  good,  gave  his  spirit  wings,  and  when  he  felt 
their  mighty  power  in  flight  he  trembled  with  joy.  In 
memory  of  that  joyful  soaring  of  his  spirit,  he  could  in  later 
years  characterise  those  days,  in  spite  of  their  humiliations, 
as  wonderful,  happy  days,  full  of  glorious  prophecy,  and 
call  his  meeting  with  Herder  a  most  important  event. 

Let  us  examine,  in  detail,  what  Goethe  could  and  did 


Beginning  of  tbc  Xltcrar^  IRcvoIution    113 

receive  from  Herder.  First  of  all,  his  great,  deep-pene- 
trating method  of  research.  Herder  did  not  belong  to 
those  who  are  satisfied  with  recording  and  describing 
things;  he  was  always  searching  for  the  roots  from 
which  they  had  sprung.  In  this  search  he  discovered  that, 
in  order  to  learn  the  causes  of  things,  one  must  not  con- 
sider them  in  their  isolation,  but  in  connection  with  their 
whole  environment.  In  intellectual  things  this  environ- 
ment included  everything:  land,  climate,  religion,  myth- 
ology, constitution,  habits  of  thought  and  life,  etc.  From 
this  method  of  study  all  his  investigations  received  a  com- 
prehensive, profound,  epoch-making  character,  no  matter 
whether  his  conc-lusions  were  right  or  wrong,  whether  final, 
or  merely  fragmentary  and  suggestive. 

Herder's  chief  interest  was  in  poetry.  Upon  what  does 
poetry  rest,  and  what  is  its  source?  Guided  by  Hamann's 
declaration  that  "  poetry  is  the  mother  tongue  of  the  human 
race,"  Herder  recognises  that  the  roots  of  poetry  and 
speech  are  intertwined.  "  For  what  was  the  first  language 
but  a  collection  of  poetic  elements  ?  An  imitation  of  the 
sounds,  actions,  and  motions  of  nature — the  natural  speech 
of  all  creatures,  translated  by  the  understanding  into 
sounds,  personified  in  pictures  of  actions,  passions,  and 
living  impressions — a  constant  composition  of  fables  full  of 
passion  and  interest."  In  course  of  time,  with  departure 
from  nature,  language  was  no  doubt  transformed  from 
poetry  into  prose,  and  now,  instead  of  knowing  of  its 
beauty,  we  know  only  of  its  correctness.  We  seek  to  limit 
it  in  every  direction,  and  we  rob  it  of  its  sensuous  beauty. 
The  followers  of  Gottsched,  by  their  condemnation  of  free 
constructions,  new  formations,  and  homely  expressions, 
have  produced  a  watery  style.  But  daring  genius  discards 
the  burdensome  ceremonial  demanded  by  grammarians  and 
digs  down  into  the  heart  of  language,  as  into  the  bowels  of 
the  earth,  in  search  of  gold.  If  poetry  and  language  are  one 
in  their  origin,  then  poetry  cannot,  as  narrow-minded  people 
think,  be  the  private  inheritance  of  a  few  clever,  educated 
men,  it  must  be  a  universal  gift  (a  sentence  which  delighted 

VOL.  1.— 8. 


114  ^bc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

Goethe).  Poetry  must  stand  the  higher,  the  nearer  the 
poet,  whether  a  people  or  an  individual,  stands  to  nature. 
Hence  the  most  glorious  poems  are  those  of  the  most 
ancient  peoples,  or  of  savages,  and  those  of  the  sons  of 
nature,  Moses,  Homer,  Ossian.  For  civilisation  is  aot  coiiv 
ducive  to  poetry.  It  has  deprived  us  of  firmness  of  eye 
and  hand,  siireness  of  thought  and  expression,  spriteliness 
and  genuineness  of  feeling,  and  so  even  of  the  capability  of 
appreciating  the  great  poets  and  hearing  the  spirit  of 
nature  which  sings  in  them. 

But  it  is  not  by  imitating  great  poets  that  we  attain  to 
anything  better  and  higher ;  it  is  by  learning  from  them  the 
art  of  poetry,  the  art  of  reflecting  in  poetry  our  own  nature, 
histor>%  manner  of  thought,  and  language;  that  is  to  say, 
we  must  imitate  ourselves, — must  be  original. 
^  / — '  Such  poets  were,  among  the  ancient  dramatists,  Soph- 
ocles and  ^schylos;  among  the  modem,  Shakespeare. 
Therefore  it  is  absurd  to  judge  Shakespeare  by  the  rules  of 
the  ancients.  Each  has  represented  his  own  world  in  the 
drama.  Shakespeare  found  before  him  a  world  no  longer 
simple,  and  hence  his  dramas  could  not  be  simple.  He 
portrayed  history,  situations,  great  events  in  their  actual 
complexity  and  many-sidedness,  and  he  remained  faithful 
to  truth  and  nature  when  he  traced  the  course  of  history 
and  human  fate  through  all  their  various  scenes  and  stages. 
He  lays  hold  of  a  hundred  scenes,  marshals  them  before  him, 
and  quickens  them  with  a  single  spirit  animating  the  whole. 
He  speaks  the  languages  of  all  ages  and  conditions  of  men, 
is  the  interpreter  of  nature  in  all  her  tongues.  When  one 
reads  him,  theatre,  actor,  curtain,  all  vanish.  One  sees  but 
a  world  of  dramatic  history,  as  great  and  deep  as  nature. 
For  the  poet  as  god  of  the  drama  no  clock  strikes  upon 
tower  or  temple,  for  it  is  his  to  create  both  measure  of  space 
and  of  time.  This  measure  of  time  and  space  dwells  in  his 
soul,  and  thither  he  must  transport  his  audience  by  his 
magic  and  compel  them  to  accept  his  standards. 

As  the  dramatist  must  learn  from  Shakespeare,  so  must 
the  lyric  poet  from  the  songs  of  the  common  people,  and 


Beginning  of  the  Xiterarp  IRevolution    115 

especially  from  the  old  Scotch  lays  of  Ossian,  which  Herder, 
convinced,  Hke  almost  everybody  else,  of  their  genuineness, 
does  not  hesitate  to  place  on  an  equality  with  the  folk-song. 
In  his  characterisation  of  the  folk-song,  however,  he  un- 
consciously avoids  taking  the  clever  fraud  of  Macpherson 
into  consideration.  The  folk-song,  he  explains,  is  full  of 
freshness,  strength,  objectivity;  it  speaks,  it  reasons  not, 
it  paints ;  there  is  no  other  connection  among  its  parts  than 
among  the  trees  and  bushes  of  the  forest,  hence  its  bold 
transitions  and  daring  strokes.  Language  and  rhythm  are 
the  exact  expression  of  the  contents  and  therefore  an  or- 
ganic part  of  the  song. 

Herder  spoke  with  no  little  enthusiasm  of  Homer  and  of 
the  Bible,  which  he  taught  Goethe  for  the  first  time  to  ap- 
preciate as  poetry.  Homer  he  calls  all  natiu-e,  and  Moses 
he  places  by  the  side  of  Homer,  and  hence,  also,  by  the  side 
of  Ossian. 

He  further  turns  Goethe's  thoughts  and  attention  to 
Pindar's  dithyrambs,  makes  him  acquainted  with  Hamann's 
favourite  ideas  and  expressions,  reads  Goldsmith's  Vicar 
of  Wakefield  to  him,  points  him  to  the  great  satirist  Swift, 
and  brings  the  Norse  mythologic  and  heroic  songs  of  the 
Edda  nearer  to  his  heart. 

Through  these  thoughts  and  inspirations  Herder  became 
Goethe's  guide  and  Hberator.  Whatever  of  creative  power 
in  poetry  and  language  there  was  latent  in  Goethe's  genius 
he  developed  into  conscious  and  free  activity.  For  that 
reason  Goethe  eagerly  devoured  everything  that  Herder 
put  at  his  disposal.  He  felt  the  naturalness  of  this  food, 
which  strengthened,  broadened,  and  exalted  his  whole  be- 
ing. Homer,  Ossian,  and  Shakespeare  became  favourite 
books  with  him,  as  the  Bible  had  been  since  his  early  youth. 
But  while  Ossian  after  a  few  years  again  retired  into  the 
background,  Homer  and  Shakespeare  remained  his  com- 
panions through  life. 

.  The  influence  of  Shakespeare  on  Goethe  in  his  Strasburg 
period  cannot  be  overestimated.  True,  the  British  poet 
had  already  so  captivated  him  that  he  placed  him  beside 


\ 


ii6  Zhc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

Oeser  and  Wieland  as  his  teacher,  but  this  very  grouping  is 

evidence  that  the  full  greatness  of  the  poet  had  not  yet 

dawned  upon  him.     It  came  over  him  first  through  Herder. 

Now  whenever  he  read  Shakespeare  in  the  quiet  of  his  room, 

as  he  tells  us  in  Willielm  Meister,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if 

a  magician  were  moving  a  host  of  spirits  about  him  in 

an  eternal  circle  of  change,  and  he  was  vexed  if  anybody 

brought  him  back  from  this  magic  world  to  talk  of  another. 

All  the  prophetic  feelings  which  he  had  ever  had  about  man 

and  his  fate  he  saw  developed  and  fulfilled  in  Shakespeare's 

plays.     They  seemed  to  him  the  work  of  a  heavenly  genius, 

.  and,  like  Herder,  he  felt  that  he  had  before  him,  not  poems, 

i,v.  but  the  huge  open  book  of  fate.     As  he  expresses  himself  in 

V'     the  manifesto,  Zum  Shakespearestag,  written  a  year  later,  he 

pj felt  his  life  infinitely  broadened.     Now  for  the  first  time 

he  dared  to  leap  into  the  free  air,  and  now  for  the  first  time 
he  began  to  feel  that  he  had  hands  and  feet.  And  when  he 
saw  how  much  injustice  he  had  suffered  from  the  tyranny 
of  rules,  and  how  many  free  souls  were  still  crouching  in 
their  fetters,  his  heart  would  have  burst  within  him  had 
he  not  made  it  the  business  of  his  life  to  raze  their  prisons. 
He  grasps  more  distinctly  than  Herder  the  point  of  view  of 
I  the  Shakespearian  dramas,  which  assures  their  inner  unity 
and  dramatic  effect,  perceiving  that  the  peculiarity  of  the 
ego,  the  pretended  freedom  of  the  will,  clashes  with  the 
necessary  progress  of  the  whole.  Our  distorted  taste  so 
obscures  our  vision  that  we  are  almost  in  need  of  a  new 
creation  to  deliver  us  from  this  darkness.  The  most  of 
Shakespeare's  critics  are  offended  at  his  characters.  But 
\  he  cries  out:    "Nature,  nature!  nothing  so  near  to  nature 

as  Shakespeare's  men!  " 

While  the  freedom  and  sureness  of  Shakespeare's  genius 
gave  him  back  his  own  freedom  and  sureness ;  while  he  ad- 
mired Shakespeare's  deep  insight  into  the  confusion  of  the 
world  and  thus  deepened  his  own;  and  while  from  the 
psychological  miniature-drawing  of  characters,  which  he 
compares  with  the  ingenious  works  of  a  watch,  he  derived 
the  richest  n(5urishment  for  his  own  art,  nevertheless  this 


Beoinnino  of  tbe  Xiterar^  IRevoluticn    1 1 7 

was  not  all  that  he  owed  to  Shakespeare.  The  greatest 
gain,  perhaps,  was  that  Shakespeare's  world,  according  to  his 
confession,  inspired  him  more  than  anything  else  to  make 
more  rapid  progress  in  the  real  world,  to  plunge  into  the  flood 
of  fate  that  surrounds  it,  and  then  some  day  dip  from  the 
great  sea  of  true  nature  a  few  cupfuls  and  present  them  to  the 
famishing  public.  "To  plunge  into  the  flood  of  fate," — let  ^ 
us  remember  these  words  for  his  further  career  in  life. 

Enthusiasm  for  Shakespeare  produced  in  the  friendly 
sick-room  a  glow  which  at  times  melted  even  the  reserve  of 
Herder,  who  more  than  once  embraced  his  devoted  pupil 
before  the  sacred  image  of  the  master. 

Less  profound  and  stormy,  but  no  less  lasting  and  ^i 
beneficial,  was  the  effect  of  Homer  on  Goethe.  In  order  to 
understand  him  in  the  original  he  resumed  his  Greek 
studies,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  Hfe  busied  with  a  multiplicity 
of  scientific  studies,  social  intercourse,  and  love-making,  he 
studied  Greek  faithfully,  so  that  in  a  short  time  he  was  able 
to  understand  the  rhapsodies  of  the  Ionian  poet  almost 
without  translation.  As  to  what  he  gained  from  Homer 
while  in  Strasburg  we  have  very  little  information.  We 
merely  know  from  Herder  that  Goethe  liked  to  speak  of 
the  Homeric  heroes,  which  his  fancy  pictured  to  him  as  so 
many  storks,  wading  about,  beautiful,  great,  and  free. 

The  Ossianic  poems,  with  their  sublime,  mournful  tones 
and  their  great  melancholy  scenes,  gave  him  a  fervour  of 
feeling  rather  than  originality  of  thought,  colour  rather 
than  form.     The  most  important  thing  was  that  they  kin-^  w 

died  his  love  for  the  folk-song.  He  began  to  pay  heed  to 
the  songs  of  the  Alsatian  people,  and  succeeded  in  gathering 
from  the  mouths  of  aged  beldams  a  small  anthology,  which 
he  gave  to  Herder  for  his  collection.  But  as  the  poet  drank 
at  the  fountain  of  the  folk-song,  his  own  songs,  as  they 
welled  up  within  him,  took  on  that  wonderful  harmony, 
that  delightful  breath  of  simplicity,  freshness,  and  inward- 
ness, and  that  plastic  objectivity,  which  make  them  seem 
to  be  separated  from  his  earlier  productions  and  from  those 
of  his  contemporaries  by  a  hundred  years.     The  dew  of  the 


^ 


ii8  ^be  %\fc  of  (Boetbe 

folk-song  developed  Goethe's  lyric  poetry  over  night  into 
full  flower.  He  never  composed  more  fragrant  songs  than 
the  Mailied  and  the  Heidenroslein,  or  anything  fuller  of 
feeling  than  Willkommen  und  Ahschied. 

Herder  tarried  in  Strasburg  seven  months,  every  day 
of  which  was  full  of  most  fruitful  instruction  for  Goethe. 
The  querulous  man,  who  looked  upon  the  city  at  first  as  a 
most  miserable,  barren,  disagreeable  place,  became  more 
than  ever  disgusted  after  the  failure  of  the  operation  on  his 
eye,  and  at  East,er,  1771,  he  was  glad  indeed  to  leave.  As 
he  had  become  financially  embarrassed,  Goethe  borrowed 
a  sum  of  money  for  him,  which  was  returned,  long  after  it 
was  promised,  accompanied  by  some  mocking  doggerel. 
A  year  later,  when  his  betrothed  had  written  in  praise  of 
Goethe,  Herder  replied  that  he  was  in  reality  a  good  man, 
but  extremely  fickle  and  far  too  much  Hke  a  sparrow; 
however,  he  was  the  only  man  who  had  visited  him  regularly 
during  his  confinement  and  whom  he  had  been  glad  to  see. 
The  aristocratic  indifference  with  which  he  here  speaks 
of  Goethe  was  for  the  most  part  feigned. 

With  the  free  and  daring  ideas  which  Goethe  had  re- 
ceived from  Herder's  teachings,  with  the  enthusiasm  which 
he  had  developed  for  Shakespeare,  Homer,  and  Ossian,  he 
infected  the  whole  company  at  the  table  d'hote  and  aroused 
among  them  such  a  fury  of  Storm  and  Stress  that  the  com- 
mon things  of  every-day  life  were  completely  submerged. 
Nature  and  freedom  became  the  guiding  principles  of  the 
young  friends;  they  wanted  to  produce  everything  of 
themselves  in  untrammelled  liberty,  without  artificiality 
and  without  subservience  to  rules. 

grcinib[c{)aft,  I'icbc,  ^riibcrfdiaft — 
Jrcigt  bic  fid)  iiid)t  uon  [clbcr  nor  ?* 

That  was  the  war-cry  given  out  by  Goethe,  and  soon  after  in- 
corporated in  the  original  text  of  Faust,  and,  guided  by  it, 
the  young  iconoclasts  overthrew  all  the  objections  of  tradi- 

*  Friendship,  love,  and  brotherhood — 
Speak  they  not  for  themselves,  without  the  aid  of  art? 


ffieainnlno  of  tbe  Xitcrari?  IRevolutlon    119 

tion  and  conventionality.  This  war-cry  also  formed  the 
central  thought  for  the  convivial  celebrations,  which  they 
held,  for  the  greater  exaltation  of  their  spirits,  on  the  plat- 
form on  the  top  of  the .  unfinished  tower  of  the  cathedral, 
where  they  tossed  off  brimming  bumpers  to  the  honour  of 
the  setting  sun. 

With  his  most  intimate  friends  Goethe  had  other  special 
pleasures.  He  often  drove  down  the  111  with  Lerse,  and  by 
the  light  of  the  lantern  in  the  Ruprechtsau  read  Ossian 
and  Homer  with  him  and  occupied  the  same  bed  with  him, 
but  did  not  sleep  any.  Often  on  such  occasions  he  would 
go  into  ecstasies,  speak  words  of  prophecy,  and  make  Lerse 
fear  he  would  go  mad,  as  the  latter  hurnorously  related  in^ 
Weimar  a  generation  later. 

It  elated  the  young  men,  too,  that  they  could  now  be 
cordially  glad  of  their  German  nationality  and  that  they 
could  look  down  upon  the  swaggering  French  with  con- 
tempt. For  not  only  had  they  heard  from  Herder  that 
nobody  could  attain  true  greatness  without  developing  in 
his  own  life  the  characteristics  of  his  people,  but  also  that 
the  French  literature  for  which  they  had  long  since  con- 
ceived an  aversion  was  in  reality  of  no  account.  It  had_ 
grown  old  and  aristocratic,  while  Europe  was  thirsting  for 
rejuvenation.  French  criticism,  it  seemed  to  them,  lacked 
creative  power, — was  only  negative,  disparaging;  French 
poetics  was  a  prison  in  which  the  drama  was  languishing; 
the  classical  French  drama  was  a  parody  on  itself.  From 
the  boasted  European  celebrity,  Voltaire,  they  were  re- 
pulsed by  his  dishonesty,  his  barren  wit,  and  his  coldness. 
It  was  evident  to  them  that  he  understood  neither  the 
Bible,  nor  Shakespeare,  nor  nature.  In  the  presence  of 
the  Encyclopedists  they  felt  as  if  they  were  walking  about 
among  the  innumerable  moving  spindles  and  looms  of  a 
great  factory.  And,  to  cap  the  cHmax,  the  materiaHsts  with 
Holbach  at  their  head!  His  Systbme  de  la  Nature  seemed 
to  them  so  pallid,  so  Cimmerian,  so  cadaverous,  that  they 
shuddered  at  it  as  at  a  ghost.  But  when  the  author  made 
the  plea,  that  as  an  old  man  retired  from  active  life  he  had 


fj 


I20  ^be  %ltc  of  (Boetbe 

had  no  other  ambition  than  to  serve  the  truth,  the  young 
people  scoffed  at  him,  saying:  "Old  churches  have  dark 
windows,"  and  "How  cherries  and  berries  taste  one  must 
ask  children  and  sparrows."  For  the  cold  barrenness  and 
the  senile  torpor  which  they  thought  they  discovered  in 
French  literature  they  could  find  no  compensation  in  such 
men  as  Diderot  and  Rousseau,  of  whom  the  latter  especially 
had  appealed  strongly  to  them  with  his  call  "back  to 
nature."  Indeed,  the  fate  of  Rousseau,  who  was  at  that 
time  living  in  poverty  and  obscurity  in  Paris,  served  the 
rather  to  anger  them  anew  at  the  French.  Besides,  there 
was  the  rottenness  in  the  public  life  of  France,  which  was 
discussed  in  Strasburg  with  great  bitterness,  and  which 
made  it  easy  to  foresee  the  collapse  of  the  state. 

Accordingly  the  youthful  companions  took  delight  in  cast- 
ing overboard  everything  French.  And  on  the  very  frontier 
of  France  they  felt  themselves  thoroughly  rid  of  everything 
that  savoured  of  that  nation.  They  even  objected  to  the 
French  spoken  by  their  neighbours,  and  would  not  permit 
any  other  language  than  German  to  be  used  at  the  table. 

This  revolutionary,  free,  and  patriotic  spirit  of  the  com- 
pany was  considerably  strengthened  at  Easter,  1771,  by 
the  arrival  of  the  Livonian  poet,  Jacob  Lenz.  He  was 
twenty  years  of  age,  was  a  student  of  theology,  and  was 
acting  as  tutor  to  the  two  young  Courland  Barons  von 
Kleist,  who  were  going  to  serve  in  the  French  army.  He 
was  a  neat,  trim  little  body,  somewhat  bashful,  gentle,  of 
good  parts  and  fair  poetic  talent,  and,  with  his  striving  for 
freedom  and  originality,  fitted  into  the  Storm-and-Stress 
circle  very  well.  Received  with  open  arms,  he  with  Jung, 
Goethe,  and  Lerse  formed  a  circle  in  which,  as  Jung-Stilling 
remarks,  everybody  felt  at  home  who  could  appreciate  the 
beautiful  and  the  good.  But  it  was  the  misfortune  of  the 
youth  gifted  with  so  many  superior  qualities,  that  his 
mind,  insufhciently  developed  by  serious  study,  was  not 
capable  of  the  expansion  which  he  desired  to  give  it.  He 
overworked  it,  and  the  thin  fabric  gave  way. 

That  he  formed  too  high  an  opinion  of  himself  was,  in  no 


IBeoinnino  of  tbe  Xlterar^  IRcvolution    121 

small  degree,  the  fault  of  the  rapturous  mutual  admiration 
in  vogue  in  the  circle,  the  dangers  of  which  Goethe  thought 
he  had  barely  escaped  by  the  scathing  criticisms  of  Herder. 
But  the  less  Lenz  attained  by  actual  achievement  to  the 
importance  for  which  he  longed,  the  more  he  sought  to  in- 
crease the  weight  of  his  personality  by  all  sorts  of  machina- 
tions. Goethe  also  suffered  from  this  spirit  of  intrigue,  for 
Lenz  bestowed  upon  him  a  wonderful  combination  of  love 
and  admiration,  envy  and  hatred.  It  was  another  per- 
nicious peculiarity  of  his  that  he  loved  to  toy  with  the 
fictions  of  his  fancy,  treating  them  now  as  real,  now  as 
empty,  until  he  lost  control  over  them  and  consequently 
fluctuated  between  the  most  irreconcilable  moods  and  as- 
pirations, and  plunged  from  one  self-deception  into  another. 
But  his  morbidness,  whimsicality,  and  eccentricity  were 
not  completely  revealed  until  later.  In  the  few  remaining 
months  that  he  was  associated  with  Goethe  in  Strasburg 
his  better  nature  was  always  dominant  and  made  him  for 
Goethe  and  the  others  a  beloved  companion. 

With  his  strong  interest  in  the  theatre,  he  seized  with 
avidity  Herder's  thoughts  on  Shakespeare  and  the  modem 
drama.  But,  for  his  revolutionary  desire  to  bring  forth 
something  entirely  new,  Herder's  standpoint  did  not  suffice. 
He  shared  Herder's  enthusiasm  for  Shakespeare,  but  drew 
from  the  English  poet  quite  other  lessons.  While  Herder, 
following  Shakespeare,  demanded  a  great  historical  event 
as  the  basis  of  a  drama,  Lenz  admitted  actions  or  events  as 
motives  only  in  comedy ;  tragedy  should  rest  entirely  upon 
great  or  remarkable  characters.  And  in  support  of  this 
axiom  he  referred  not  only  to  Shakespeare  but  also  to  the 
oldest  German  dramatists,  for  example,  Hans  Sachs.  Ob- 
scure and  strange  as  were  these  opinions,  expressed  in  his 
Anmerkungen  iiber  das  Theater,  still,  because  they  turned 
all  previous  influential  criticism  topsy-turvy,  they  were 
warmly  received  by  the  Strasburg  circle,  and  hence  Goethe 
refers  those  who  care  to  know  what  discussions  were  carried 
on  in  his  day  in  the  Strasburg  society  both  to  Herder's 
essay  on  Shakespeare  and  to  Lenz's  article. 


^ 


122  ^be  %ltc  of  6oetbe 

Beside  Lenz,  still  another  member  of  Salzmann's  society 
is  worthy  of  mention,  Heinrich  Leopold  Wagner,  a  student 
of  law,  who  afterwards  wrote  Die  Kindermorderin.  Even 
if  he  did  nothing  worthy  of  mention  during  Goethe's  stay 
in  Strasburg,  yet,  as  he  was  counted  soon  afterward  one  of 
the  leading  types  of  the  Storm-and-Stress  period  and  came 
into  close  touch  with  Goethe,  he  must  be  included  for  the 
sake  of  completing  the  picture. 

The  absolute  return  to  nature,  or  to  what  was  considered 
nature,  and  the  revolt  from  laws  and  canons,  was  for  Goethe 
and  his  friends  fraught  with  the  great  danger  that  they 
might  become  rude,  lacking  in  form,  monstrous,  confused, 
and  thus  ruin  their  poetry  and  their  lives.  But  while 
Goethe's  thorough  education  and  the  happy  instinct  of  his 
genius  usually  brought  him  back  at  critical  moments  to  the 
right  way,  many  experiences  and  impressions  especially 
preserved  his  mind  from  falling  into  unwholesome  ex- 
travagances. Thus  his  complete  loss  of  self  in  the  sombre 
charm  of  Gothic  architecture  was  counterbalanced  by  the 
contemplation  of  the  sunny  art  of  Raphael,  which  a  happy 
chance  brought  to  his  attention  in  the  tapestries  used  to 
decorate  the  building  where  Marie  Antoinette,  the  future 
queen  of  France,  was  to  be  received  on  her  arrival  in  Stras- 
burg. While,  in  Dresden,  he  had  passed  by  Raphael  with 
indifference,  here  he  would  gladly  have  studied,  revered, 
even  worshipped  him  every  day  and  every  hour.  The  in- 
fluence of  the  Roman  ruins  which  he  had  seen  in  Nieder- 
bronn  was  in  the  same  direction,  as  was  also  the  excellent 
collection  of  plaster  casts  of  ancient  sculpture  which  he 
saw  in  Mannheim  on  the  return  journey  to  Frankfort. 
The  melancholy  mist  in  the  atmosphere  of  Ossian  was 
effectually  overcome  by  the  bright  sun  of  Homer.  And, 
finally,  his  whole  character  was  moderated  and  purified  by 
his  true  love  of  a  lovely,  noble  girl,  whose  brightness  turned 
the  night  into  day — Friederike. 


FRIEDERIKE 

Goethe's  first  visit  in  Sesenheim — The  Brion  family  and  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield — Goethe's  letter  to  Friederike — His  visit  at  Christmas — 
Friederike  in  Strasburg — Goethe's  Easter  visit — Confession  of  love 
— Willkomtnen  und  Abschied — Mailied — Friederike' s  illness — 
Goethe's  letters  to  Salzmann — He  deserts  Friederike — His  reason 
— Die  neiie  Melusine. 

GOETHE  introduces,  with  great  solemnity,  the  ac- 
count, in  his  autobiography,  of  his  relation  to 
Friederike.  Three  times  in  significant  passages 
he  suggests  it  in  a  tone  of  deep  feeling,  but  not  until  the 
fourth  time  does  he  satisfy  our  curiosity.  First,  he  points 
out  from  the  top  of  the  cathedral  a  little  spot  toward  which 
he  is  drawn  by  a  lovely  charm,  and  lets  it  fade  away  again 
from  our  sight;  then  he  transports  us  into  the  darkness  of 
a  moimtain  forest,  and  there  in  the  stillness  of  the  night  the 
sound  of  hunting  horns  recalls  to  him  the  image  of  a  fair 
creature,  but  scarcely  has  the  apparition  flashed  before  our 
eyes  when  it  vanishes  like  a  meteor ;  then  he  rides  through 
the  forest  of  Hagenau  along  bridle-paths,  with  which  love 
had  made  him  familiar,  toward  his  dear  Sesenheim — we 
learn  now  at  least  the  name  of  the  place — and  at  last  we 
think  he  will  lead  us  to  his  loved  one,  but  again  he  digresses 
and  tells  us  of  Herder  and  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  And 
only  when  he  has  done  with  this  topic  does  he  think  the 
moment  has  arrived,  not,  indeed,  to  remove  the  veil  alto- 
gether from  the  picture  so  dear,  so  sacred  to  him,  but  to 
lift  it  little  by  little,  until  we  are  inspired  with  enough 
reverence  to  behold  it  in  all  its  innocent  beauty. 

123 


124  Zbc  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

Friederike,  awaited  with  as  much  impatience  by  her 
relatives  as  by  us,  enters  the  room,  like  the  first  star  in  the 
evening  sky.  Slender  and  light,  as  if  she  had  no  weight  to 
bear,  she  came  tripping  in,  and  it  seemed  almost  as  if  her 
neck  were  too  delicate  to  support  the  heavy  blond  braids 
of  her  dainty  head.  Her  merry  blue  eyes  looked  frankly 
about,  and  her  neat  little  turned-up  nose  breathed  the  air 
as  freely  as  if  there  could  be  no  care  in  the  world ;  her  straw 
hat  was  hanging  on  her  arm,  so  that  the  guest  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her  for  the  first  time  in  all  her  beauty  and 
loveliness. 

In  the  early  part  of  October,  1770,  Goethe  had  been  in- 
troduced to  the  family  of  Pastor  Brion  by  his  friend  Wey- 
land,  who  was  related  to  them  by  marriage.  The  family  of 
the  pastor,  which  seemed  to  the  poet  to  mirror  the  Primrose 
household,  numbered  at  that  time  seven:  the  kindly, 
noble  father,  fifty- three  years  of  age,  the  well-bred,  dignified 
mother,  in  her  forty-sixth  year,  four  daughters,  and  one  son. 
Of  the  four  daughters,  the  oldest  was  no  longer  at  home, 
being  already  married.  Of  the  other  three,  active,  roguish 
Marie  Salomea,  whom  Goethe  calls  Olivia,  out  of  The  Vicar 
of  Wakefield,  was  twenty-one,  Friederike  about  nineteen, 
and  the  third,  Sophie,  about  fourteen.  She  is  not  men- 
tioned by  Goethe,  as  she  does  not  fit  into  the  parallel  be- 
tween the  Brion  family  and  the  Primroses.  But  we  are 
made  acquainted  with  the  son.  Christian,  seven  years  of 
age,  who,  in  honour  of  his  English  prototype,  is  called 
Moses.  Goethe  had  just  entered  upon  his  twenty-second 
year  a  few  weeks  before.  According  to  his  account  he 
began  his  visit  by  a  merry  little  episode  in  which  he  in- 
dulged his  fondness  for  masquerading  by  appearing  in 
shabby  clothes  as  a  poor  student  of  theology.  On  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  however,  as  Friederike  had  caught  his 
fancy,  and  he  wished  to  engage  hers  in  turn,  he  was  vexed 
at  the  ugly  disguise,  and  rode  away  to  Drusenheim,  put  on 
the  landlord's  son  George's  best  clothes  and  appeared  again 
in  Scsenheim  with  a  christening  cake  in  his  hand,  which 
occasioned  all  sorts  of  surprises  and  jokes.     Goethe  tells 


jfrlebcrlke  125 

us  further  that  on  the  first  evening  he  took  a  moonhght 
stroll  with  Friederike;  that  he  walked  along  beside  her, 
supremely  happy  and  listening  to  her  stories,  which,  how- 
ever, had  nothing  sentimental  about  them.  "The  bright- 
ness of  her  talk  turned  the  night  into  day."  The  following 
day  he  sits  absorbed  in  sweet  dreams  in  Friederike 's  favour- 
ite resort  on  a  little  wooded  hill,  marked  by  a  tablet, 
Friederikens  Ruhe.  In  this  quiet  place  Friederike  finds 
him.  A  conversation  arises  which  is  carried  on  by  Goethe 
with  great  vivacity.  "Whereas  she  had  borne  the  burden 
of  the  conversation  on  the  moonlight  walk  the  evening  be- 
fore, I  now  in  my  turn  liberally  repaid  the  debt."  They 
return  to  the  parsonage  together.  After  dinner  the  young 
people  betake  themselves  into  ' '  a  roomy  arbour, ' '  perhaps 
the  oft-mentioned  jasmine  arbour  opposite  the  parsonage. 
There  Goethe  tells,  according  to  his  own  statement,  the 
tale.  Die  neue  Melusine,  which  he  later  inserted  in  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Wander jahre.  He  passes  a  few  charming  days  in 
the  amiable  family,  and  when,  on  the  fourteenth  of  October 
he  arrives  in  Strasburg  there  is  a  barb  in  his  heart.  The 
very  next  day  he  writes  a  letter  ^^  to  Friederike  (the  only  one 
that  has  survived  from  the  correspondence  of  the  lovers), 
in  which  we  plainly  see  the  afterglow  of  the  happiness  of  the 
days  they  had  spent  together. 

"Dear  new  Friend: 

"  I  do  not  hesitate  so  to  call  you,  for  even  if  I  know 
but  a  very  little  of  the  language  of  the  eyes,  my  eye  at  the 
first  glance  read  in  yours  the  hope  of  this  friendship,  and 
for  our  hearts  I  could  swear.  Could  it  be  that,  you,  tender 
and  good,  as  I  know  you,  feel  not  the  least  inclination  for 
me,  who  hold  you  so  dear? — Dear,  dear  friend,  whether  or 
not  I  have  anything  to  say  to  you,  there  is  indeed  no 
question;  but  whether  I  know  just  why  I  am  going  to 
write  to  you  at  this  moment  and  what  I  should  like  to  say, 
that  is  another  matter.  So  much  do  I  know  from  a  certain 
inward  unrest,  that  I  should  much  like  to  be  with  you ;  and 
in  such  a  case  a  little  scrap  of  paper  is  as  true  a  consolation 


126  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

as  winged  a  horse  to  me,  here  in  the  midst  of  noisy  Strasburg, 
as  ever  it  can  be  to  you  in  your  peacefulness,  when  you 
keenly  feel  the  separation  from  your  friends. — The  circum- 
stances of  our  homeward  journey  you  can  pretty  well  im- 
agine, if  you  were  able  to  see  in  my  looks  how  sad  I  felt 
at  parting  from  you,  and  if  you  observed  Weyland's  eager- 
ness to  get  home,  gladly  as  he  would  have  stayed  with  you 
under  other  circumstances.  His  thoughts  went  forward, 
mine  backward,  and  so,  naturally,  the  conversation  could 
be  neither  extensive  nor  interesting.  .  .  .  Finally  we 
arrived,  and  the  first  thought  which  occurred  to  us,  and 
which  had  been  our  consolation  on  the  way,  was  a  plan  to 
see  you  again  soon.  There  is  something  so  dear  in  the  hope 
of  meeting  again.  And  we  with  our  pampered  hearts,  when 
anything  makes  us  the  least  bit  sad,  are  always  ready  with 
the  remedy,  and  say :  '  Dear  heart,  be  quiet ;  you  will  not 
long  be  separated  from  those  you  love;  be  quiet,  dear 
heart.'  And  then  we  make  for  it  a  shadow  picture  that  it 
may  meanwhile  have  something  at  least,  and  then  it  is 
obedient  and  quiet  like  a  little  child  whose  mother  gives  it  a 
doll  instead  of  the  apple  which  it  ought  not  to  eat. — Enough, 
we  are  here,  and  you  see  that  you  were  wrong!  You  would 
not  believe  that  the  noise  of  the  city  would  grate  on  my  ears 
after  your  sweet  country  joys.  Certainly,  Mam'sell,  Stras- 
burg never  seemed  to  me  so  empty  as  now.  I  hope  it  may 
be  better  when  time  shall  have  worn  away  a  little  of  the 
memory  of  our  delightful,  unrestrained  enjoyment,  when 
I  shall  no  longer  feel  so  vividly  how  good,  how  amiable,  my 
friend  is.  But  can  it  be  that  I  could  or  would  forget  it? 
No,  I  will  rather  keep  the  little  heartache  and  write  to 
you  often.  And  now  many,  many  thanks;  many,  many 
sincere  remembrances  to  your  dear  parents ;  to  your  dear 
sister  many  hundreds  of  — ,  which  I  would  gladly  repay  to 
you." 

Whether  or  not  Goethe,  as  he  planned,  returned  soon  to 
Sescnheim  we  do  not  know.  At  all  events  he  was  there  in 
the  winter — perhaps  at  Christmas — after  he  had  announced 
his  visit  with  the  beautiful  verses  ^' : 


jfrietJcrilie  127 

Sd)  fommc  balb,  i^r  golbnen  .ftinbcr, 
S^crgcbcn^  fpcrrct  unei  bcr  Sinter 
3n  iinfrc  tuarmcn  3titbcn  cin. 
SBir  mollcn  um  jiim  gciicr  jc^cn 
Unb  taui'cnbfaltiii  line  mp^cn, 
Ung  licbcn  mic  bic  (Snc^clcin. 
SKir  rooUcn  ficinc  ,ftron3cf)cn  roinben, 
SKIr  luoUcn  flcine  8traupd)cn  binbcn 
Unb  roic  bie  tlcinen  ^inber  fein.* 

They  were  brought  still  closer  together  by  a  protracted 
visit — perhaps  at  the  beginning  of  Lent — which  Frau  Brion 
and  her  daughters  made  in  Strasburg.  But  their  inter- 
course in  the  city  was  not  as  intimate  and  imconventional 
as  in  the  country,  and  for  that  reason  Goethe  hailed  with 
delight  the  Easter  vacation,  which  was  to  bring  him  to  his 
loved  one  again  in  her  home.  On  Easter  Eve  he  mounts 
his  horse  and  is  off  on  a  wild  ride  to  Sesenheim : 

(Sg  fd)Iug  mein  ^erg — gc[d)it)inb  gii  ^ferbc 
Unb  fort,  railb  roic  ein  .*pe(b  jnr  Sd^Iac^t ! 
®er  5lbcnb  loicgte  [rf)on  bic  @rbc, 
Unb  an  ben  S^ergcn  l)ing  bie  9?Qd)t. 
@d)on  [tunb  im  5^ebelflcib  bie  @id)c 
3Bie  cin  gctnrmter  9lie[e  ha, 
3So  ginftcrnig  nne  bem  @eftrdurf)e 
SO^it  ^nnbert  [d)it)argen  5Iugcn  fab. 

®er  9J?onb  t)on  cincm  SKolfenf)iigel 
<Ba\)  [d)Iafrig  am  bem  '3)nft  ()eriior : 
®ie  9Sinbe  fdjmangcn  leife  ^^li'igel, 
Umfauften  [d)aucrlid)  mein  Obr. 
®ie  9?ad^t  fc^uf  tanfenb  Unge^euer — 

*  My  children  dear,  I  come  at  last, 
E'en  though  the  winter's  chilly  blast 
In  shelter  warm  doth  bid  us  stay. 
We  '11  sit  beside  the  cheery  fire 
And  mutual  joys  untold  inspire 
And  love  like  angels  all  the  day. 
And  little  wreaths  of  flowers  we'll  wind 
And  lovely  little  nosegays  bind; 
Like  little  children  we  will  play. 


128  ^be  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

®o^  tnii[cnbfnd)cr  mnr  ntcin  SJhit ; 
93?ein  @ei[t  roar  ein  iicrjcljrcnb  gciier, 
9!)?ein  ganged  ^erg  gerflof  in  ®lut.* 

In  spite  of  the  late  hour  of  Goethe's  arrival  in  Sesenheim 
he  found  the  two  oldest  daughters  of  the  pastor  still  sitting 
before  the  door;  they  seemed  not  much  surprised,  but  he 
was,  when  Friederike  whispered  to  Olivia,  loud  enough  for 
him  to  hear:  "What  did  I  tell  you?  There  he  is."  Early 
the  next  morning  Friederike  called  him  for  a  walk.  "  With 
a  little  attention  I  was  able  on  this  morning  to  behold 
Friederike 's  character  in  all  its  phases,  so  much  so  that  to 
me  she  was  always  the  same  during  the  whole  time.  .  .  . 
Her  nature,  her  figure  never  appeared  more  charming  than 
when  she  passed  along  a  raised  footpath;  the  gracefulness 
of  her  movements  seemed  to  vie  with  the  flower-bedecked 
earth,  and  the  inexhaustible  cheerfulness  of  her  countenance 
with  the  blue  sky.  The  refreshing  atmosphere  which  she 
breathed  she  brought  with  her  to  the  house,  and  it  was  soon 
noticeable  that  she  knew  how  to  solve  trifling  difficulties 
and  to  obliterate  the  impression  of  little  unpleasantnesses. 

"The  purest  joy  that  one  can  have  in  a  beloved  person 
is  to  see  that  person  giving  joy  to  others.  Friederike 's 
bearing  in  the  company  was  universally  helpful.  On  walks 
she  hastened  hither  and  thither,  an  animating  spirit,  and 

*  Quick  throbbed  my  heart — to  horse!  up!  leap! 
Swift  as  a  warrior  to  the  fight! 
The  evening  lulled  the  earth  to  sleep, 
And  o'er  the  mountains  hung  the  night. 
In  robe  of  mist  the  oak  upreared 
Its  towering  limbs  of  monstrous  size. 
From  every  bush  the  darkness  peered 
With  countless  hollow,  ghostly  eyes. 

Above  the  mountain-cloud  the  moon 
Looked  sleepy  through  the  misty  heap; 
The  wind's  soft  wings  were  beating  soon, 
Making  my  flesh  with  terror  creep. 
The  night  formed  myriad  monsters  dire, 
But  still  I  nought  of  fear  did  know; 
My  brain  was  a  consuming  fire, 
My  heart  dissolved  in  fervent  glow. 


jfrlet)erlt?e  1 29 

she  knew  how  to  fill  in  the  gaps  which  might  arise  here  and 
there.  The  lightness  of  her  movements  we  have  already 
spoken  of ;  she  was  lightest  when  she  ran.  Just  as  the  deer 
seems  most  completely  in  its  element  when  it  flies  lightly 
over  the  growing  grain,  she,  too,  seemed  to  express  her 
character  most  clearly  when  she  hastened,  running  lightly 
over  meadows  and  slopes  to  get  something  forgotten,  to 
seek  something  lost,  to  call  a  straying  couple,  or  to  do  some- 
thing else  that  was  needed," 

It  made  Goethe  ineffably  happy  to  be  by  the  side  of  this 
sunny  creature.  And  as  Friederike  also  felt  in  her  heart 
the  magnetic  charm  of  the  poet,  who  was  giving  himself  to 
her,  it  was  only  natural  that  what  each  had  long  felt  for 
the  other  was  openly  confessed  in  a  moment  of  love,  and 
that  this  confession  was  sealed  with  a  most  hearty  embrace. 
This  time  it  was  harder  than  ever  for  the  lovers  to  part : 

®er  5lbf(^ieb,  roic  bebrcingt,  mic  trube! 
9lii^  bcincn  33(icfcn  [prad)  bcin  ^erg. 
3n  bcincn  -tfiffcn,  mcld)c  iJicbc, 
O  mlijz  3Bonne,  mcldjcr  ®rf)merg! 
®u  gingft,  \i}  ftiinb,  nnb  faf)  jur  Grben, 
Unb  fal)  bir  nad)  mit  naffcm  33Iicf ; 
Unb  tod},  wtld)  ©litcf !   geliebt  gu  merbeti, 
Unb  lieben,  ©otter,  meld)  ein  ©liicf!* 

The  separation  was  less  keenly  felt  because  of  a  lively 
correspondence,  which,  according  to  Goethe's  account,  in- 
creased his  love,  as  Friederike 's  letters  breathed  the  same 
charm  as  her  immediate  presence.  Of  the  many  lyric 
pearls,  which  without  doubt  were  interwoven  in  the  cor- 
respondence, only  one,  apparently,  has  been  preserved,  the 

*  How  sad  the  parting  hour  did  prove! 
For  through  thine  eyes  thy  heart  spoke  plain. 
And  in  thy  kisses,  O  what  love! 
What  ecstasy,  what  burning  pain! 
My  eyes  sank  down  at  thy  farewell, 
And  through  my  tears  I  saw  thee  go. 
In  love  returned  what  raptures  dwell! 
Ye  gods,  what  bliss  in  loving  so! 


VOL.  I. 


I30  Zl)c  %\tc  Of  (Boetbe 

one  which  accompanied  the  present  of  a  painted  ribbon, 
Kleine  B lumen,  kleine  Blatter.  In  the  original  form  of  the 
song  he  prays  to  fate  that  the  life  of  their  love  may  not  be 
the  life  of  a  rose.  It  was  certainly  an  honest,  sincere 
prayer,  but  he  had  not  reckoned  with  the  unconquerable 
powers  within  him. 

May  came  and  enticed  the  lover  oftener  than  ever  before 
into  the  gardens  and  fields  of  Sesenheim.  Nature  had 
decked  herself  with  all  the  charms  of  a  beautiful  spring. 
In  eloquent  words  the  poet  praises  the  clearness  of  the 
heavens,  the  splendour  of  the  landscape,  the  ethereal  morn- 
ings, the  mild  evenings,  of  those  well-remembered  days. 
And  in  his  Mailied  we  can  hear  echoes  of  the  same  rapture, 
ending  in  a  joyous  jubilee  of  love  and  life : 

@o  licbt  bic  2crd)c 
©cfnnc^  unb  !i^uft, 
Unb  Worgcnbhimcn 
®en  §immelgbuft, 

SKic  ic^  bid)  licbc 
W\i  tuarmcm  3^1  iit, 
®ic  bii  mir  Siigcnb 
Unb  grcub'  unb  mwi 

3u  ncucn  Sicbcrn 
Unb  IJnnjen  gibft, 
©ci  ciuig  glurflid) 
SBicbumic^  licbft!* 

♦  The  lark  less  loveth 
Sweet  song  and  air, 
And  bloom  of  morning 
Heaven's  fragrance  rare. 

Than  I  love  thee 
With  fond  desire, 
For  thou  renewest  . 
My  youthful  fire; 

Giv'st  joy,  and  spirit 
For  song  and  glee; 
Be  ever  happy 
As  thou  lov'st  me! 


Jfrle^erlf^e  131 

The  happiness  of  the  lovers  was  at  its  zenith.  Just 
then  Friederike  was  taken  ill, — it  was  thought  with  con- 
sumption,— and  the  poet,  who  had  been  as  one  walking  in 
his  sleep,  was  suddenly  aroused  to  sober  thought.  He 
was  deeply  pained  wh^n  it  dawned  upon  him  that  what 
for  Friederike  was  downright  earnest,  for  him  was  only  a 
beautiful  dream.  He  went  to  Sesenheim  at  Whitsuntide, 
and  during  a  stay  of  several  weeks  began  slowly  to  wrestle 
with  his  conscience  for  its  consent  to  forsake  Friederike.  It 
is  sad  and  yet  fascinating  to  follow  the  struggle  through  the 
letters  which  he  at  the  time  wrote  to  his  Socrates,  Salzmann. 
In  the  first  he  says :  "  It  is  not  very  cheerful  about  me  here ; 
the  little  one  continues  sadly  ill  and  that  makes  everything 
look  out  of  joint.  To  say  nothing  of  the  conscia  mens,  not, 
alas!  recti,"^  which  is  ever  present  with  me.  Yet  my  head  is 
still  above  water. 

"  I  danced  with  the  eldest  on  Whitmonday  from  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  till  twelve  o'clock  at  night  with- 
out ceasing,  except  during  the  few  pauses  for  refreshments. 
Justice  von  Reschwoog  had  lent  his  drawing-room,  we  had 
picked  up  some  good  travelling  musicians,  and  so  we  danced 
with  the  fury  of  a  storm.  I  forgot  my  fever  and  since  then 
it  has  been  better,  too.  .  .  .  And  yet  if  I  could  say, 
'  I  am  happy,'  that  would  be  better  than  all  else. 

"  'Who  is  't  can  say,  "  I  am  at  the  worst"?'  says  Edgar 
[in  King  Lear].  That  is  also  a  consolation,  dear  friend. 
My  head  is  like  a  weather-cock,  when  a  storm  is  approach- 
ing and  the  gusts  of  wind  are  changeable.     .     .     . " 

A  week  later  he  writes :  "A  few  words  are,  at  all  events, 
better  than  nothing.  Here  I  am  driven  from  pillar  to 
post.  .  .  .  The  world  is  so  beautiful!  so  beautiful!  if 
one  could  only  enjoy  it!  This  often  vexes  me,  and  I  often 
read  myself  edifying  lectures  about  making  the  most  of  the 
present,  about  this  doctrine,  which  is  so  indispensable  to 
our  happiness,  but  which  many  a  professor  of  ethics  fails  to 
grasp  and  which  none  propounds  with  clearness.     Adieu." 

But  the  melancholy  mood  is  obstinate.     A  fortnight 

*  Cf.  Virgil,  ^n.,  i,  604:  mens  sibi  conscia  recti. — C. 


132  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

later  we  read  in  a  third  letter:  "  I  am  coming,  or  I  am  not, 
or — when  this  is  all  over  I  shall  know  better  about  it  than 
now.  It  is  raining  without  and  within,  and  the  hideous 
west  winds  rustle  in  the  grape-leaves  before  my  window 
and  my  animula  vagula  *  is  like  the  little  weather-cock 
over  yonder  on  the  church- tower ;  '  turn  thee !  turn  thee ! ' 
thus  it  goes  the  livelong  day,  although  the  'bow  thee! 
stretch  thee!'  went  out  of  fashion  some  time  ago.     .     .     ." 

The  longer  he  stays  the  more  the  beautiful  dream  fades 
away.     The  fifth  week  he  writes : 

"It  is  now  about  time  that  I  should  return,  and  I  in- 
tend to,  and  intend  to,  but  what  is  the  use  of  intending, 
when  I  see  the  faces  about  me?  The  condition  of  my 
heart  is  peculiar,  my  health  is  as  wavering  as  ever,  but  the 
world  is  more  beautiful  than  I  have  seen  it  in  a  long  time. 

"A  most  pleasant  country,  people  who  love  me,  a  cycle 
of  joys.  'Are  not  the  dreams  of  your  childhood  all  ful- 
filled?' I  often  ask  myself  when  feasting  my  eyes  on  this 
heaven  of  happiness.  'Are  not  these  the  fairy  gardens  you 
longed  for? '  They  are,  they  are.  I  feel  it,  dear  friend,  and 
feel  that  one  is  not  a  whit  happier  when  he  obtains  what  he 
has  desired.  The  makeweight!  the  makeweight!  which 
fate  throws  into  the  scales  with  every  joy  we  have.  Dear 
friend,  it  requires  a  good  deal  of  courage  to  keep  from  be- 
coming embittered  in  this  world.     .     .     ." 

He  returns  to  Strasburg  with  the  consciousness  that  his 
relations  with  Friederike  are  but  the  product  of  his  fancy 
and  must  end  in  sorrow.  The  thought  of  it  begins  to 
worry  him.  But  the  power  of  sweet  habit  outweighs,  and 
he  continues  the  lovely  intercourse,  more  by  letters,  how- 
ever, than  by  visits.  His  stay  in  Strasburg  was  approaching 
the  end;  just  before  his  departure  and  his  last  visit  in 
Sesenhcim  he  wrote  to  Salzmann:  "My  eyes  will  not  stay 
open  and  it  is  only  nine.  Oh,  how  I  love  regularity!  Out 
late  last  night,  routed  out  of  bed  early  this  morning  by 
plans!  The  inside  of  my  head  looks  like  my  room;  I 
cannot  find  even  a  scrap  of  paper,  except  this  blue.     But 

*Cf.  Spartianus,  Hadr.,  25:  Animula  vagula,  blandula,  etc. — C. 


jfdeberll^e  133 

any  paper  will  do  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you,  and  this 
doubly  well;  you  know  what  it  was  intended  for.  Enjoy 
yourself  till  I  see  you  again.  I  am  not  altogether  happy  at 
heart.  I  am  too  wide  awake  not  to  feel  that  I  am  grasping 
after  shadows.  And  yet — to-morrow  at  seven  my  horse  is 
saddled,  and  then  adieu!" 

How  was  the  parting  from  Friederike?  In  Dichtung 
und  Wahrheit  we  read:  "In  such  craving  and  confusion  I 
could  not  forego  seeing  Friederike  once  more.  Those  were 
painful  days,  of  which  I  no  longer  have  any  remembrance. 
When  I  reached  down  my  hand  to  her  again  from  my  horse, 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  I  felt  very  miserable." 
Easy  enough  to  understand,  for,  as  he  told  Frau  von 
Stein  eight  years  later,  he  left  Friederike  at  a  moment  when 
it  almost  cost  her  life.  Goethe  did  not  have  the  courage  at 
that  time  to  explain  to  Friederike  frankly  the  futility  of  the 
bond  between  them.  He  waited  till  he  reached  Frankfort 
and  then  wrote  her.  He  received  an  answer  which  lacer- 
ated his  heart.  "  It  was  the  same  hand,  the  same  mind, 
the  same  feeling  which  had  been  nurtured  for  me  and  by 
me.  I  now  felt  for  the  first  time  what  a  loss  she  suffered 
and  saw  no  possibility  of  making  it  good,  indeed  of  even 
alleviating  it.  She  was  always  vividly  present  to  my  mind; 
I  always  felt  the  lack  of  her  and,  worst  of  all,  could  not 
forgive  myself  for  my  own  unhappiness.  Gretchen  had 
been  taken  away  from  me,  Annette  had  forsaken  *  me,  here 
for  the  first  time  I  myself  was  to  blame.  I  had  wounded 
the  most  beautiful  heart  to  its  depths  and  so  the  period 
of  gloomy  remorse  .  .  .  was  most  painful,  indeed 
unbearable." 

But  to  make  himself  worthy  of  inward  absolution  he 
punished  himself  more  severely  than  life  did  by  the  creation 
in  his  literary  works,  of  the  weak,  faithless  lovers,  Weis- 
lingen  and  Clavigo,  who  came  to  an  end  by  poison  and  by 
the  steel  of  the  avenger.     But  even  in  this  way  his  struggle 

*  Goethe  was  always  accustomed  to  represent  himself  as  forsaken 
by  Katchen  SchOnkopf,  because  she  had  given  her  hand  to  another  soon 
after  his  separation  from  her. 


134  ^be  Xlfe  of  6oetbe 

was  not  rewarded  by  complete  absolution.  The  torturing 
memories  returned  ever  and  anon,  and  years  later  drove 
him,  as  we  shall  see,  once  more  to  the  simple  Alsatian  par- 
sonage, where  Friederike's  noble,  reconciled  soul  finally 
liberated  him  from  them. 

What  separated  Goethe  from  Friederike?  Why  did  he 
feel  that  there  was  no  possibility  of  uniting  his  life  and  hers  ? 

The  shallowest  answers  have  been  given  to  these  ques- 
tions. Some  say  that  as  the  son  of  Frankfort  patricians  he 
considered  himself  too  aristocratic ;  others,  that  he  despaired 
of  ever  gaining  the  approbation  of  his  father;  others,  that 
Friederike  was  not  his  intellectual  equal.  But,  in  view  of 
the  deep,  warm  love  which  thrilled  him  through  and  through, 
and  of  the  vacillating  spirit  that  came  over  him  as  early  as 
May,  1 77 1,  it  is  not  worth  while  to  enter  into  a  detailed 
discussion  of  these  attempts  at  explanation.  In  truth,  the 
same  mental  process  repeated  itself  as  in  the  case  of  Katchen. 
In  this  instance  Goethe  has  abundantly  lightened  the  task 
of  discovering  his  final  motive  by  the  gentle  hint  in  the 
Sesenheim  idyll  with  reference  to  the  tale.  Die  neue  Melusine. 
Let  us  recall  the  gist  of  the  story.  A  man  makes  the 
acquaintance  of  a  maiden  with  whom  he  is  extraordinarily 
pleased.  "Alone  with  her  on  a  green  meadow,  covered 
with  grass  and  flowers,  shut  in  by  rocks,  with  the  music  of 
running  water  in  his  ears,  what  heart  under  such  surround- 
ings would  have  remained  unfeeling?"  But  the  lovely 
creature  belongs  to  the  dwarf  kingdom,  and  the  man  can 
remain  with  her  only  on  condition  that  he  make  up  his 
mind  to  become  as  small  as  she  is.  He  decides  to  do  so. 
By  means  of  a  ring,  which  she  puts  on  his  finger,  he  be- 
comes a  dwarf.  The  maiden  leads  him  into  her  kingdom, 
to  the  presence  of  her  father,  the  king  of  the  dwarfs.  The 
king  greets  him  as  his  future  son-in-law  and  sets  the  wedding 
for  the  following  day.  "What  a  terrible  state  of  mind  I 
found  myself  in  all  at  once,  when  I  heard  them  speak  of 
marriage!"  He  is  about  to  escape,  but  ants,  the  allies  of 
the  father-in-law,  check  him  and  will  not  let  him  go.  "  Now 
I,  small  as  I  was,  was  in  the  hands  of  still  smaller  beings." 


Jrleberike  135 

There  is  no  help  for  him,  he  must  be  married.  "Now  let 
me  pass  over  all  ceremonies;  enough,  we  were  married. 
But  merry  and  gay  as  our  life  was,  nevertheless  there  were 
lonely  hours,  when  one  is  led  to  reflect,  and  there  happened 
to  me  what  had  never  before  happened  to  me,  but  what 
and  how  you  shall  hear.  Everything  about  me  completely 
corresponded  to  my  present  form  and  needs,  the  bottles 
and  goblets  well-proportioned  for  a  tiny  tippler,  indeed,  if 
you  will,  better  proportioned  than  with  us.  The  dainty 
mouthfuls  tasted  excellent  to  my  little  palate ;  a  kiss  from 
the  little  mouth  of  my  wife  was  O!  so  sweet!  and  I  do  not 
deny,  that  the  novelty  made  these  conditions  most  agree- 
able to  me.  But  withal,  alas!  I  had  not  forgotten  my 
former  estate.  I  felt  within  me  a  standard  of  former  great- 
ness which  made  me  restless  and  unhappy.  Now  I  under- 
stood for  the  first  time  what  the  philosophers  might  mean 
by  their  ideals,  by  which  men  are  said  to  be  so  tormented. 
I  possessed  an  ideal  self  and  often  in  my  dreams  seemed  to 
myself  like  a  giant.  In  short,  my  wife,  the  ring,  my  dwarf 
figure,  and  so  many  other  bonds  made  me  completely  un- 
happy, so  that  I  began  to  think  seriously  of  escaping." 
He  files  the  ring  in  two  and  regains  his  former  size. 

Here  we  have  the  explanation.  Goethe  had  formed  an 
ideal  for  himself,  which  it  seemed  to  him  would  be  destroyed 
by  a  union  with  Friederike.  The  giant  had  no  desire  to 
lead  the  life  of  a  dwarf.  Hence  the  inward  unrest,  the 
vacillation  of  his  soul,  and  the  feeling  that  he  was  grasping 
after  shadows,  when  he  began  to  think  of  the  consequences 
of  his  love.  "  In  what  a  terrible  state  of  mind  I  found  my- 
self, when  I  heard  them  speak  of  marriage!"  His  ideals 
tormented  him,  they  drove  him  irresistibly  to  plunge  into 
the  flood  of  fate,  to  try  there  his  titanic  powers  and  live  up 
to  his  capabilities. 

In  the  presence  of  such  a  demonic  impulse  toward  life 
and  freedom,  which  asserts  itself  as  a  natural  necessity,  it 
is  out  of  place  to  speak  of  right  or  wrong.  Great  geniuses, 
less  masters  of  themselves  than  other  men  are,  must,  like 
the  mighty  forces  of  nature,  follow  the  laws  inherent  in 


136  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

themselves.  They  are  sent  to  redeem  humanity,  while 
in  the  fulfilment  of  their  mission  they  become  entangled  in 
guilt.  So  also  Goethe.  And  for  his  trespasses,  even  for 
those  into  which  he  fell  with  a  pure  heart,  as  with  Fried- 
erike,  he  had  to  pay  dearly.  Retributive  justice,  by  giving 
him  a  vivid  imagination  and  a  most  delicately  sensitive  soul, 
had  foreordained  that  he  should  atone  bitterly  for  every 
fault,  more  bitterly  than  most  men,  including  many  of  his 
most  intelligent  friends,  have  ever  believed.  In  view  of 
the  sunshine  which  flooded  the  high  places  of  his  life, 
people  have  been  too  prone  to  overlook  the  gloomy  clouds, 
which,  now  and  then  almost  terrifying,  and  to  the  super- 
ficial observer  almost  inexplicable,  arose  from  the  depths. 

The  nobler  and  purer  Friederike's  nature,  the  more  she 
suffered  in  silence,  the  more  the  poet  saw  her  image  sur- 
roimded  with  the  glory  of  a  madonna.  From  the  two 
Marys  in  Gotz  and  Clavigo  she  ascends  gradually  until  at 
^  the  end  of  Faust  she  reaches  in  Gretchen  her  heavenly 
transfiguration. 


XI 


DEPARTURE  FROM  STRASBURG 

Goethe's  friends  desire  that  he  become  a  professor  in  the  university — He 
prefers  to  carry  out  his  father's  plans — Doctor's  dissertation — 
Disputation — Licentiate  instead  of  doctor — Tour  of  Upper  Alsatia 
— Return  to  Frankfort. 

IN  more  than  one  respect  Goethe  was  tempted  while  in 
Strasburg  to  fix  upon  an  entirely  different  career  in 
life.  Not  only  did  his  relations  to  Friederike  threaten 
to  interrupt  his  most  suitable  development,  but  so  did  also 
plans  of  his  older  friends  and  acquaintances.  The  wonder- 
ful talents  and  high  culture  of  the  Frankfort  student,  little 
as  he  appeared  at  other  lectures  than  those  on  medicine, 
had  attracted  the  attention  of  Oberlin,  professor  of  philo- 
sophy, and  Koch,  professor  of  history  and  constitutional 
law,  and  had  led  to  closer  relations  with  these  men.  To 
his  associations  with  Oberlin,  who  beside  philosophy  was 
deeply  interested  in  the  older  German  language  and  litera- 
ture, Goethe  owed  his  first  knowledge  of  the  Minnesingers, 
who  had  just  been  redeemed  from  the  oblivion  of  several 
centuries.  Das  Nibelungenlied,  and  other  medieval  classics. 
He  also  learned  much  from  Koch,  and  his  passionate  grasp 
and  independent  and  intelligent  mastery  of  the  material 
offered  led  these  learned  men  to  consider  him  exceptionally 
well  fitted  for  an  academic  career.  In  conjunction  with 
Salzmann  they  laid  their  plans  before  him,  opening  up  the 
prospect  of  a  professorship  of  histor>',  constitutional  law, 
and  rhetoric  in  Strasburg  and  at  the  same  time  of  a  position 
in  the  higher  service  of  the  French  Government.  But  the 
days  when  a  professorship  had  seemed  to  him  the  goal  of 

137 


138  Zbc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

his  ambition  were  gone  by.  A  chair  in  the  University  of 
Strasburg,  where  the  professors  were  so  narrow-minded, 
and  a  position  in  the  French  Government  after  he  had 
become  filled  with  a  strong  aversion  to  everything  French, 
had  very  little  charm  for  him.  Consequently  he  rejected 
the  plan,  alluring  though  it  would  once  have  been.  He 
thought  his  freedom  of  movement  would  be  better  guarded 
if  he  should  fulfil  his  father's  wishes  and  settle  down  for 
the  present  as  an  advocate  in  Frankfort. 

The  final  conditions  were  yet  to  be  met.  He  must 
needs  become  a  doctor  of  jurisprudence,  and  to  obtain 
the  degree  a  dissertation  was  necessary.  Having  so  little 
interest  in  the  special  problems  of  jurisprudence,  he  chose 
a  general  topic,  half  in  the  field  of  church  history,  half  in 
the  field  of  constitutional  law.  The  theme  was  a  strange 
one.  Goethe,  following  in  the  path  of  Rousseau's  Contrat 
Social,  wished  to  establish  the  thesis  that  the  lawgiver  not 
only  may,  but  must,  fix  upon  a  certain  cult,  which  neither 
the  clergy  nor  the  laity  shall  be  permitted  to  renounce. 
But  there  should  be  no  investigation  of  one's  own  thoughts 
and  feelings.  By  this  arrangement  he  thought  he  could 
anticipate  all  disputes  between  church  and  state,  of  which 
he  had  seen  enough  since  childhood,  and  at  the  same  time 
provide  for  the  necessary  freedom  of  conscience.  He 
elaborated  this  thought  with  much  industry  and  critical 
acumen,  having  no  other  censor  in  mind  than  his  father. 

The  faculty,  which  had  to  examine  all  dissertations 
presented,  not  only  from  the  scientific  standpoint  but  also 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  common  welfare,  raised  objec- 
tions to  the  thesis,  and  Dean  Ehrlen  gave  Goethe  the 
friendly  advice  not  to  publish  it,  but,  instead  of  presenting 
it  for  the  doctor's  degree,  to  apply  for  the  licentiate's  de- 
gree by  means  of  a  disputation  on  certain  theses.  Goethe 
acted  upon  the  suggestion  with  delight.  For  he  himself 
had  deep  misgivings  with  regard  to  his  dissertation,  and 
was  able  to  console  his  father  with  the  promise  to  enlarge 
and  improve  it  later,  and  then  publish  it.  Goethe,  with 
the  help  of  his  coach,  had  soon  selected  sixty-five  theses 


departure  from  Straeburo  139 

to  take  the  place  of  the  dissertation.  Certain  of  them, 
such  as,  "Law  is  by  far  the  most  glorious  of  all  studies," 
may  perhaps  be  attributed  to  the  coach,  unless  they  are 
biting  irony.  The  proposition  that  legislation  belongs  ex- 
clusively to  the  prince  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  in  a  period 
of  absolutism.  We  are  more  astonished  that  the  prince 
should  be  the  sole  interpreter  of  the  law,  and  that  to  prevent 
reason  from  becoming  folly  each  new  prince  should  be 
required  to  promulgate  new  interpretations  in  every  gener- 
ation. But  the  young  man,  who,  in  his  poetr>%  was  an 
enthusiastic  apostle  of  liberty  and  the  people,  desires  to 
tone  down  his  absolutist  colouring  by  means  of  the  ostenta- 
tious thesis:  "  Salus  rei  publicas  suprema  lex  esto,"  *  with- 
out revealing  who  is  to  decide  what  is  the  salus  rei  publiccB 
and  who  is  to  compel  the  prince  to  fulfil  the  esto. 

Confronted  by  such  quaint  theses,  partly  dashed  off  in  a 
spirit  of  genial  humour,  it  was  not  very  hard  for  Lerse,  even 
if  he  was  no  jurist,  to  drive  his  friend  into  such  a  tight 
place  in  course  of  the  disputation  that  Goethe  interrupted 
his  flow  of  Latin  with  the  remark:  "  Brother,  I  believe  you 
are  going  to  hector  me."  The  public  ceremony,  which 
occurred  on  the  sixth  of  August,  passed  off  with  great 
merriment  and  levity,  says  Goethe,  and  the  young  poet 
became  a  licentiate  in  law.  As  the  titles  of  licentiate  and 
doctor  had  equal  value  in  Germany,  he  was  from  now  on 
called,  even  officially.  Doctor  Goethe.  The  disputation 
seems  to  have  been  followed  by  an  inaugural  banquet  and 
that  joyful  excursion  with  his  friends  into  Upper  Alsatia,  of 
which  Goethe  tells  us  in  the  eleventh  book  of  Dichtmig  und 
Wahrheit.  He  went  to  Molsheim,  Kolmar,  Schlettstadt, 
Ensisheim,  and  then  to  the  Ottilienberg,  from  the  top  of 
which  he  once  more  cast  his  eyes  with  great  pleasure  over 
the  fair  fields  of  Alsatia,  while  the  distant  blue  of  the  Swiss 
mountains  awoke  in  him  a  new  longing. 

Thus  he  had  wandered  over  Alsatia  almost  from  one  end 
to  the  other  and  had  finished  his  sight-seeing.  Paris  no 
longer  occupied  his  fancy,  since  he  had  come  to  despise  the 

*  Let  the  public  weal  be  the  supreme  law. 


I40 


ITbe  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 


French  more  than  ever.     From  Strasburg  he  went  straight 
home. 

He  left  the  dear  land  as  one  bom  to  a  new  life.  The 
old  period  of  illness,  limitations,  oppression,  was  past.  A 
new  era  of  health,  freedom,  and  greatness  had  dawned,  in 
which  he,  with  exuberant  might,  strove  toward  his  lofty- 
goal.  The  sacred  oracle,  which  had  spoken  consolation  to 
him  in  his  first  hour  in  Strasburg,  was  verified.  It  had 
become  necessary  for  him  to  enlarge  the  place  of  his  tent 
and  to  lengthen  his  cords ;  for  he  had  spread  abroad  on  the 
right  hand  and  on  the  left. 


XII 


ADVOCATE   AND   JOURNALIST 

Goethe  the  advocate — Gotz — Other  literary  activities — Wanderers  Sturm- 
lied — Merck — The  Darmstadt  "saints" — Goethe  in  Darmstadt — 
Die  Frankfurter  Gelehrten  Anzeigen — Goethe's  contributions  to  the 
journal — Review  of  the  Gedichte  von  einetn  polnischen  Juden — 
Other  reviews — the  journal  changes  hands  and  declines — Goethe 
goes  to  Wetzlar. 

WHEN  the  young  doctor  again  entered  his  native 
city  in  the  middle  of  August  he  was  not  alone. 
In  Mainz  he  had  taken  such  a  fancy  to  a  boy 
who  played  the  harp — just  as  Wilhelm  Meister  did  to  the 
harpist  and  Mignon — that  he  brought  him  along  to  lodge 
in  his  father's  house  during  the  coming  fair.  His  mother, 
who  foresaw  what  his  father  in  course  of  time  would  think 
of  the  strange  musician,  succeeded  in  compromising  be- 
tween her  son's  strange  act  of  kind-heartedness  and  her 
husband's  sense  of  order  and  propriety  by  lodging  the  boy 
in  the  neighbourhood.  "The  noble  woman,"  says  Goethe, 
"well  pleased  with  her  first  attempt  at  compromise  and 
conciliation,  Httle  suspected  that  she  should  very  soon  have 
the  greatest  need  of  this  art."  This  was  not,  however,  the 
case  in  the  beginning;  during  the  first  few  months  there 
was  complete  harmony  between  father  and  son.  The 
foundation  had  been  laid  for  a  regular  civic  career.  Im- 
mediately upon  his  arrival  Goethe  had  settled  down  as  an 
advocate,  and  with  the  help  of  his  father  and  a  secretary 
had  begun  to  practise.  Furthermore,  his  father  was  very 
proud  of  the  beautiful  manuscripts  which  he  had  brought 
back   from   Strasburg:    the   scholarly   dissertation,    many 

141 


142  ^be  %itc  of  (Boetbc 

smaller  essays,  translations,  journals  of  travel,  broadsides, 
and  poems.  He  arranged  everything  neatly  and  urged  his 
son  to  complete  and  publish  his  many  writmgs. 

This,  however,  was  anything  but  Goethe's  ambition,  his 
reluctance  to  appear  in  print  having  been  intensified  by 
Herder's  severe  criticism.  And  the  completion?  How 
should  he  get  time  for  that  when  a  hundred  new  subjects 
and  plans  were  stirring  his  soul  and  pressing  him  to  work 
them  out?  Ever  since  the  days  in  Strasburg  his  mind  had 
been  occupied  with  two  important  figures  of  the  sixteenth 
centur>%  Gotz  and  Faust.  Faust  gave  way  to  Gotz.  The 
problem  of  Faust  was  too  great  to  be  solved  otherwise  than 
through  a  slow  process  of  evolution,  while  Gotz  might  be 
completed  in  a  shorter  time.  Besides,  the  poet  was  very 
strongly  attracted  by  the  chivalrous  personality  of  Ber- 
lichingen  as  well  as  by  the  fresh  atmosphere  of  his  time. 

So  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  his  nature  he  began  to  cast 
the  history  of  this  "noble  German"  in  dramatic  form,  at 
first,  as  usual,  without  putting  pen  to  paper.  With  fiery 
zeal  he  unrolled  his  outlines  to  Cornelia,  declaiming  whole 
scenes,  until  she  begged  him  earnestly,  instead  of  always 
launching  forth  into  the  air,  to  write  some  of  it  down.  He 
wrote  the  first  scenes  and  she  was  pleased  with  them,  but, 
wise  as  she  was,  expressed  her  strong  disbelief  that  he 
would  have  the  perseverance  to  continue  any  further. 
Her  doubts  stimulated  him ;  he  kept  at  work,  and  within 
six  weeks,  before  the  end  of  1771,  it  was  finished.  Then 
he  sent  copies  to  his  older  friends  and  awaited  their 
judgment. 

Hardly  was  Gotz  done  when  he  began  on  Sokrates;  he 
may  also  have  done  something  more  on  Gdsar,  which  he 
had  begun  in  Strasburg,  so  that  of  dramas  alone  four 
tremendous  subjects,  Faust,  Gotz,  Sokrates,  and  Cdsar,  were 
upon  his  mind.  Besides,  he  issued  the  pamphlets,  with 
which  we  are  familiar,  on  Shakespeare  and  German  archi- 
tecture, composed  songs,  translated  from  Ossian  and  Pindar, 
and  with  the  beginning  of  the  new  year  plunged  into  a  busy 
activity  as  reviewer.     And  who  can  tell  what  other  things 


abvocate  anb  Journallet  143 

were  whirling  through  his  brain  and  how  many  of  them 
were  ever  put  on  paper?  For  he  characterises  his  small 
compositions  of  that  period  as  a  far-reaching  worid  poetry. 
Toward  the  end  of  November,  1771,  he  writes  to  Salzmann: 
"My  nisus  forward  is  so  intense  that  I  can  seldom  compel 
myself  to  stop  for  breath."  And  in  February,  1772:  "It 
is  impossible  for  the  most  rapid  scribe  to  keep  a  diary  of 
my  conditions." 

From  this  inner  seething  and  fermentation  he  sought 
relief  in  long  walks.  For  days  at  a  time  he  lived  on  the 
roads  like  a  messenger,  tramping  about  from  place  to  place 
between  the  Taimus  Moim tarns  and  the  Rhine  and  Main. 
Not  infrequently  he  roamed  about  through  Frankfort  in  the 
same  way,  came  in  at  one  gate,  ate  his  dinner  at  one  of  the 
large  hotels,  and  then  walked  out  of  the  city  at  another 
gate.  On  the  way  he  would  sing  to  himself  strange  hymns 
and  dithyrambs  in  the  style  of  Pindar,  w^ho  together  with 
Homer  and  Shakespeare  now  occupied  his  whole  soul.  One 
of  these  songs,  which  Goethe,  when  growing  old,  too  severely 
characterised  as  half  nonsense,  has  been  preserved  as  Wan- 
•xi^rers  Sturmlied.  Amid  the  fury  of  the  storm  breathes  the 
youtHfiir poet's  proud  confidence  in  his  genius. 

His  strolls  assimied  definite  purpose  when  he  became 
more  intimately  acquainted  with  Darmstadt.  This  came 
about  through  Johann  Heinrich  Merck, ^  a  man  who  for 
several  years  exerted  a  greater  influence  over  Goethe  than 
any  of  his  other  friends.  Merck,  bom  in  1741  in  Darmstadt, 
the  son  of  an  apothecary,  had  married  in  early  life  a  girl 
from  French  Switzerland,  and  in  1768  was  invested  with  the 
office  of  military  paymaster  in  his  native  city.  He  was  a 
man  of  acute  understanding,  poetic  talent,  and  fine  taste. 
His  intellectual  interests  embraced  the  most  varied  fields. 
In  literature,  the  fine  arts,  and  descriptive  sciences  he  was 
equally  at  home.  He  translated  a  great  deal  from  the 
English,  published  essays  in  esthetic  criticism,  discussed 
certain  phases  of  art  history,  and  wrote  studies  and  de- 
scriptions of  prehistoric  animal  remains,  and  a  great  num- 
ber of  reviews  for  the  leading  literary  magazines.     He  also 


144  Zbc  %\tc  of  (Boctbe 

embarked  upon  imaginative  composition,  wrote  fables, 
stories,  and  satires,  so  that  the  list  of  his  writings  is  of  con- 
siderable length.  But  the  high  regard  which  he  enjoyed 
among  his  contemporaries  was  due  less  to  his  actual  achieve- 
ments than  to  his  personality.  If  correct  judgment,  that 
comprehends  the  reality  in  things  and  men  with  certainty, 
always  carries  with  it  superiority,  this  must  be  doubly  true 
in  an  epoch,  which  more  than  any  other  delighted  in  vague 
feelings  and  hazy  views  and  conceptions.  If  we  consider, 
fiuther,  that  he  was  very  agreeable  and  witty  in  society 
and  very  efficient  in  business,  it  is  not  difficult  to  under- 
stand why  the  best  men  and  women,  such  as  Goethe,  Herder, 
Wieland,  Karl  August,  the  Hessian  landgravine  Karoline, 
Duchess  Anna  Amalia,  and  many  others,  prized  him  as  a 
man  of  extraordinary  worth  and  cherished  the  warmest 
feelings  for  him.  It  is  true,  the  same  gifts  which  made 
him  valuable  could  also  render  him  terrible.  His  pene- 
trating eye  readily  discovered  the  weaknesses  and  faults  of 
men  and,  when  not' bound  by  considerations  of  respect,  he 
knew  how  to  lay  them  bare  with  cold  contempt.  Likewise 
he  was  able  by  a  sober  criticism  to  destroy  at  a  single  blow 
any  playful  amusement,  unfounded  enthusiasm,  sentimen- 
tality, or  indulgent  loyalty.  In  the  light  of  this  side  of 
his  nature  Goethe  likened  him  to  Mephistopheles.  How 
justly,  appears  not  only  from  the  well-known  traits  de- 
scribed by  Goethe,  but  also  from  the  remark  of  Karoline 
Flachsland,  who  writes  of  him:  "  If  we  have  any  pleasure, 
even  if  it  is  insignificant  (what  is  the  difference?),  he  always 
injects  something  sour  into  it."  One  almost  fancies  one 
is  Hstening  to  Gretchen  in  Faust.  This  Mephistophelian 
trait  was  intensified  by  many  untoward  experiences.  In 
the  years  that  concern  us  at  present  it  was  especially  the 
unhappy  relations  with  his  wife  which  embittered  him; 
later  in  life  unfortunate  business  ventures  contributed  to 
his  malignity.  And  yet  at  bottom  his  heart  was  good 
and  loving  and  even  capable  of  most  tender  feeling.  To 
his  friends  he  could  be  touchingly  devoted.  For  Goethe 
especially  he  cherished  the  warmest  love  all  his  life  long. 


a^vocate  an^  Journaliet  145 

Once  when,  after  a  long  separation,  he  saw  Goethe's  head 
in  the  medalHon  by  Necker,  he  wept  for  joy  and  immediately 
had  impressions  made  from  it  so  that  he  and  his  acquaint- 
ances might  henceforth  use  it  for  a  seal.  This  remarkable 
man  was  also  distinguished  for  his  peculiar  appearance: 
tall  and  lean,  with  prominent,  pointed  nose,  and  eyes 
bright  blue  shading  into  grey,  which,  according  to  Goethe's 
expression,  gave  something  tiger-like  to  his  searching 
glance.  Association  with  him  was  full  of  profit  for  Goethe. 
True,  he  did  not,  like  Herder,  arouse  his  slumbering  powers, 
nor  did  he  give  his  spirit  new  nourishment  and  guidance, 
but  he  gave  him,  instead,  other  things,  which  at  the  time 
were  of  the  utmost  value  to  him.  While,  on  the  one  hand, 
he  helped  Goethe  by  his  cool  judgment  to  guard  against  the 
misty  monsters  and  will-o'-the-wisps  of  the  Storm-and- 
Stress  world,  on  the  other  hand,  by  his  high  standards,  he 
kept  him  from  squandering  his  genius  on  mediocre  and 
inferior  subjects,  and,  by  constant  urging  and  admonition, 
from  an  endless  dissipation  of  his  energies.  Goethe  fol- 
lowed the  counsel  of  his  older  friend  the  more  willingly,  as 
he  felt  and  knew  that  his  bitter  and  rude  criticisms  were 
bom  of  love  and  admiration. 

The  iridescence  of  Merck's  nature  is  most  plainly  seen 
in  the  fact  that  he,  in  whom  reason  was  so  dominant, 
formed  intimate  friendships  with  most  sentimental  women, 
such  as  Fraulein  von  Roussillon,  maid  of  honour  to  Land- 
gravine Karoline  of  Hesse-Darmstadt,  and  Fraulein  von 
Ziegler,  maid  of  honour  to  the  Landgravine  of  Hesse-Hom- 
burg.  More  changeable  was  his  friendship  with  Karo- 
line Flachsland,  Herder's  betrothed,  who  lived  with  her 
brother-in-law.  Privy  Councillor  Hesse. 

The  three  young  girls  and  Merck's  intellectual  wife 
formed,  however,  at  the  same  time  a  coterie  about  another 
man  in  Darmstadt,  whose  disposition  was  more  nearly  like 
their  own,  the  gallant  Leuchsenring,  who  revelled  in  beauti- 
ful thoughts  and  emotions,  a  tender  nature,  saturated  with 
the  sweet  pap  of  Georg  Jacobi  and  the  tears  of  Klopstock. 
Everything  great,  wild,   or  sublime,   that  transcended  a 


VOL.  I. — 10. 


146  Zl)c  Xlfe  of  Goetbe 

gentle  mediocrity,  was  to  him  an  abomination.  For  this 
reason  Goethe  mocks  him  in  Pater  Brey  as  the  man  who 
"desires  to  reconcile  moimtain  and  valley,  cover  over  all 
rough  places  with  plaster  of  Paris  and  lime,"  or,  more  rudely 
in  the  Jahrmarktsfest  zu  Plunder sweilern,  "would  gladly 
all  of  them  modify,  the  swine  into  lambkins  rectify."  He 
always  sided  with  the  women.  As  with  those  of  Darm- 
stadt, so  with  Julie  Bondeh,  the  friend  of  Rousseau  and 
Wieland,  and  with  Sophie  Laroche,  author  of  Sternheim,  at 
one  time  Wieland's  betrothed.  The  letters  and  ribbons 
from  his  sentimental  friends  he  kept  about  him,  well  arranged 
in  several  caskets,  and  exhibited  them  to  others  with  wor- 
shipful mien  and  many  beautiful  words.  Over  this  "en- 
raptured butterfly"  the  ethereal  maidens  of  Darmstadt 
raved;  they  dreamed  themselves  into  a  pastoral  child- 
world  with  him,  an  Elysian  fairyland,  where  they  built 
bowers  of  friendship,  in  which  he  was  their  apostle  and 
they  his  saints.  Each  of  the  sentimental  maidens  had, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  time,  her  poetical  name :  Fraulein 
von  Roussillon  was  called  Uranie;  Fraulein  von  Ziegler, 
Lila;  Karoline,  Psyche.  The  most  sentimental  of  the 
sentimental  was  Lila.  She  had  her  tomb  and  a  throne  in 
her  garden,  her  arbours  and  roses,  and  a  lamb  which  ate 
and  drank  with  her.  She  worshipped  her  friends  and  the 
moon  on  her  knees  and  observed  feasts  and  fasts  on  the 
arrival  and  departure  of  her  guests. 

Into  this  "  community  of  saints"  Goethe  was  introduced 
by  Merck  in  the  spring  of  1772,  and  a  single  meeting  was  all 
that  was  required,  especially  as  Apostle  Leuchsenring  was 
away  on  a  journey,  to  make  the  young  doctor  the  declared 
favourite  of  the  sentimental  friends.  For  he,  too,  could 
be  plaintive,  tender,  and  sentimental  with  especial  ease  at 
that  time,  as  the  embers  of  his  love  for  Friederike  were  still 
smouldering  in  his  heart.  His  beauty  and  genius  did  the 
rest.  Because  of  his  frequent  long  walks,  which  now  ex- 
tended to  Darmstadt,  they  called  him  the  wanderer  or 
pilgrim.  He  usually  protracted  his  visits  several  days,  and 
when  he  sat  down  on  the  bench  in  front  of  Merck's  house 


H^v>ocatc  anb  3ournali0t  147 

the  female  friends  would  quickly  gather  about  him  and  give 
audience  to  genius.  Every  day  they  took  a  walk  out  into 
the  forest  of  Bessungen,  and  offered  up  sacrifices  upon  the 
rocks,  which  the  maidens,  and  Goethe  following  their  ex- 
ample, had  severally  appropriated,  rowed  upon  the  quiet 
pond,  and  the  maidens  danced  in  a  circle  about  him.  If 
he  then  sang  his  songs,  or  if  he  improvised  to  them  on 
poetry,  love,  and  friendship,  the  shady  wood  was  trans- 
formed in  their  fancy  into  Tempe  and  Elysium.  When  the 
beautiful  wanderer  started  home  his  young  admirers  would 
accompany  him  out  through  the  city  gate  and  there  with 
kisses  and  tears  take  leave  of  their  "heaven-bestowed 
friend."  Goethe  reared  a  Pindaric  monument  to  those 
irmocent,  sentimental  days  in  the  three  odes,  Elysium, 
Pilgers  Morgenlied,  and  Felsweihegesang* 

Little  did  he  suspect  when  he  met  Merck  that  the 
acquaintance  would  bear  such  fair  fruit;  for  originally 
they  united  for  war  and  conflict,  in  which  only  the  stout 
hearts  of  men  were  available.  The  new  revolutionary 
party  felt  a  certain  need  of  finding  a  journal  in  which  they 
could  proclaim  their  principles  to  wider  circles.  An  op- 
portunity was  offered  in  the  Frankfurter  Gelehrten  Anzeigen, 
to  which  the  publisher.  Privy  Councillor  Deinet,  wished  to 
give  new  life.  It  seems  that  Merck,  won  over  to  the  new 
ideas  by  Herder,  and  Georg  Schlosser,  a  convert  of  Goethe's, 
made  the  necessary  negotiations  with  Deinet.  Beginning 
with  January  i,  1772,  the  Anzeigen  became  the  organ  of  the 
young  generation,  with  Merck  as  director.  The  journal 
appeared  twice  a  week  and  was  devoted  exclusively  to 
reviews.  Goethe  tells  how  these  were  prepared:  "Who- 
ever had  read  the  book  first,  made  a  report,  often  another 
reported  on  the  same  book;  it  was  discussed,  compared  with 
other  publications,  and  if  a  definite  result  was  arrived  at, 
some  one  undertook  the  review.  This  accounts  for  the  fact 
that  several  reviews  are  as  thorough  as  they  are  spritely, 
as  pleasing  as  they  are  satisfactor}\     I  was  frequently  made 

*  Cf.  Lyon,  Goethes  Verh.  z.  Klop.,  where  the  influence  of  Klopstock 
on  these  poems  is  clearly  shown. — C. 


1 48  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

secretary;  my  friends  allowed  me  to  interrupt  their  work 
with  my  jokes  and,  when  I  felt  equal  to  a  subject  especially 
dear  to  my  heart,  to  present  my  views  independently." 
This  occurred  with  great  frequency.  For  we  may  say  with 
a  reasonable  degree  of  certainty  that  he  was  the  chief  con- 
tributor to  the  journal.  His  articles  breathed  the  happy 
exuberance  of  youth  and  the  commanding  power  of  genius, 
and  when  his  lash  fell  upon  the  venerable  perukes  it  made 
the  powder  fly.  Herder  remarked:  "Goethe  is  for  the 
most  part  a  haughty  young  lord  with  the  terrible  spurs  of  a 
gamecock."  He  did  most  cruel  execution  on  good,  sweet 
Georg  Jacobi,  whom  he  dispatched  with  one  hard  blow  as  a 
woman  and  a  weakling.  Beside  the  laughing  or  angry 
thrusting  aside  of  the  old  and  the  weak  there  is  at  the  same 
time  an  uncommon  amount  of  depth  and  beauty  in  the 
reviews.  They  were  rarely  reviews  in  the  ordinary  sense 
of  the  word,  but  rather  the  effusions  of  his  youthful  heart. 
Often  he  forgets  his  real  purpose,  even  the  place  where  he 
is  writing,  and,  as  though  he  were  speaking  to  himself  in 
solitude,  he  bursts  forth  into  most  impassioned  monologue. 
Thus,  in  his  review  of  the  Gedichte  von  einem  polnischen 
Juden,  he  launches  out  suddenly  into  the  solemn  confession 
and  prayer: 

"Raise  up,  O  Genius  of  our  fatherland,  a  young  man, 
who,  full  of  youthful  power  and  cheerfulness,  shall  be  the 
best  companion  in  his  own  circle,  suggest  the  most  pleasing 
game,  sing  the  most  joyful  song,  and  be  the  life  of  the 
chorus  in  the  roundelay;  to  whom  the  best  dancer  shall 
joyfully  extend  her  hand  .  .  .  ;  to  captivate  whom  the 
beautiful,  the  witty,  and  the  cheerful  maid  shall  all  exert 
their  charms;  who  shall  also  permit  his  sensitive  heart  to 
be  ensnared,  but  shall  proudly  burst  his  bonds  in  the  mo- 
ment, when,  awaking  from  his  poetic  dream,  he  shall  find 
that  his  goddess  is  only  beautiful,  only  witty,  only  cheerful ; 
whose  vanity,  offended  by  the  indifference  of  a  reserved 
maiden,  shall  importune  her,  until,  through  forced  and 
feigned  sighs  and  tears,  through  myriad  civilities  by  day 
and  languishing  music  and  songs  by  night,  he  shall  finally 


advocate  ant)  Sournali^t  149 

win  her — and  then  desert  her,  merely  because  she  was 
reser\^ed ;  who  shall  then  proclaim  and  ridicule  to  us  all  his 
joys,  victories,  and  defeats,  all  his  follies  and  waverings, 
with  the  courage  of  an  undaunted  heart.  We  should  rejoice 
in  the  fickle  man  for  whom  a  single  womanly  virtue  is  not 
enough.  But  then,  O  Genius,  that  it  may  be  revealed  that 
not  shallowness  nor  weakness  of  heart  is  to  blame  for  his 
fickleness,  let  him  find  a  maiden  worthy  of  him.  If  holier 
feelings  drive  him  from  the  turmoil  of  society  out  into  the 
solitude,  let  him  on  his  pilgrimage  discover  a  maiden  whose 
soul  is  all  goodness,  whose  form  is  all  grace,  who  has  found 
happiness  in  the  ministrations  of  love  in  the  quiet  family 
circle,  who  as  the  favourite,  friend,  and  support  of  her 
mother  is  a  second  mother  in  the  home ;  whose  soul,  ever 
lovingly  occupied,  draws  all  hearts  irresistibly  to  her,  of 
whom  poet  and  sage  would  be  glad  to  learn,  and  whose  in- 
nate virtue  and  inherent  grace  they  would  delight  to  see. 
Oh,  if  in  her  hours  of  solitary  repose  she  feels,  that  with  all 
her  radiation  of  love,  she  still  lacks  something,  a  heart, 
that  young  and  warm  as  hers,  longs  for  the  coming  yet  still 
unrevealed  joys  of  the  world,  in  close  and  inspiring  society 
with  whom  she  could  strive  after  all  the  golden  prospects  of 
eternal  union,  enduring  harmony,  and  immortal  love! 

"  Let  them  find  each  other,  and  at  the  first  meeting 
they  will  have  a  vague  but  deep  feeling  of  what  an  ideal 
of  happiness  each  finds  in  the  other,  and  will  never  part. 
And  then  let  him  murmur  in  anticipation,  hope,  and  joy, 
'  what  no  man  can  utter  in  words,  no  man  in  tears,  and  no 
man  in  a  full,  lingering,  soulful  gaze.'  *  There  will  be 
truth  in  his  songs  and  living  beauty,  not  gay,  soap-bubble 
ideals,  such  as  float  about  in  hundreds  of  German  songs. 

' '  But  are  there  such  maids  ?  Can  there  be  such  yoimg 
men?" 

Only  at  this  point  does  he  awake  from  his  dreams  and 
continue:  "  It  is  here  a  question  of  the  Polish  Jew,  and  we 
had  almost  lost  sight  of  him." 

On  another  occasion  he  closes  the  criticism  of  a  miserable 

*  Quotation  from  Klopstock's  ode,  An  Cidli. — C. 


150  Zbc  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

work  on  Homer  with  the  words:  "  O  ye  great  Greeks,  and 
thou,  Homer,  Homer!  But  even  thus  translated,  annotated, 
cited,  explained,  so  sorely  wounded,  bruised,  lacerated, 
torn,  driven  and  dragged  over  stones  and  through  dust  and 
pools — his  flesh  does  not  decay,  no  worm  gnaws  at  him; 
for  the  blissful  gods  care  for  him  even  after  death."  He  is 
also  furious  at  those  who  think  they  can  explain  the  lives  of 
great  men  by  a  few  formulas,  such  as  apply  to  average 
creatures.  Thus  he  says  in  the  review  of  Die  Liebe  des  Vater- 
lattds,  by  Sonnenfels:  "  Lycurgus,  Solon,  Numa  appear  as 
collegcB  Gymnasii  [schoolmasters],  who  dictate  exercitia  ac- 
cording to  the  capacity  of  their  pupils.  To  see  in  the  results 
of  the  lives  of  these  great  men,  whom  we  know  only  by  ob- 
scure traditions,  principle,  political  principle,  purpose  every- 
where, and  explain  them  as  such  in  a  polemical  writing  with 
the  clearness  and  definiteness  of  a  labourer  who  explains 
cabinet  secrets,  state  relations,  and  intrigues,  over  a  glass 
of  beer !  To  throw  the  light  of  reason  upon  secrets  (for  what 
great  historical  data  are  not  secrets  to  us?)  to  which  only 
the  most  profound  spirit  can  penetrate  with  prophetic  in- 
tuition!" Similarly  we  read  in  another  review :  "Without 
any  feeling  of  what  such  a  man  has  been,  without  the 
faintest  conception  of  what  such  a  man  may  be,  the  writer 
has  here  produced  a  most  miserable  eulogy.  The  career 
of  this  strange  genius,  his  victory  over  so  many  difficulties, 
his  melancholy  dissatisfaction  with  all  success,  becomes 
under  the  pen  of  our  scribbler  a  very  commonplace  cursus 
humaniorum  et  bonarum  artium,  and  his  peculiarly  char- 
acteristic head  becomes  a  well- wrinkled,  respectable,  every- 
day mask."  Rousseau's  key-note  of  Storm  and  Stress 
finds  expression  in  his  cry:  "The  state  of  religion,  the 
political  conditions  most  closely  related  to  it,  the  oppression 
of  laws,  the  still  greater  oppression  of  social  affiliations,  and 
a  thousand  other  things  will  never  permit  the  polished 
gentleman  and  the  polished  nation  to  be  original;  they 
muffle  the  voice  of  nature,  and  erase  every  feature  with 
which  a  characteristic  picture  could  be  produced."  Hence 
the  greater  emphasis  in  other  passages  on  the  demand  that 


Hbvocate  an^  3ournaU6t  151 

the  poet  be  his  own  creature;  he  must  sing  Hke  the  bird 
in  the  air,  he  must  make  it  his  sole  business  to  attain  to  the 
perfect  development  of  his  powers  without  regard  to  public 
or  applause.  That  is  also  the  best  esthetics  that  teaches 
the  artist  to  liberate  himself.  "  For  here  the  artist  is  all- 
important;  he  must  feel  no  joy  in  life  except  in  his  art,  and, 
absorbed  in  his  instrument,  must  live  in  it  with  all  his 
powers  and  feelings.  What  does  it  matter,  whether  or  not 
the  gaping  public,  when  it  has  ceased  to  gape,  can  account 
to  itself  for  its  gaping?" 

The  artist's  only  other  way  to  learn  is,  not  from  philo- 
sophical dogmas,  but  from  the  masters  of  his  art.  "Since 
these  are  not  to  be  had  everywhere,  let  the  artist  and 
amateur  give  us  a  nspl  iavrov  [personal  account]  of  his 
endeavours,  of  the  difficulties  which  have  most  impeded  his 
progress,  of  the  powers  with  which  he  has  overcome,  of  the 
chance  which  has  helped  him,  of  the  spirit  which  has  come 
over  him  in  certain  moments  and  illuminated  him  for  the 
rest  of  his  life,  till  at  last,  by  degrees,  he  has  risen  to  mighty 
possessions,  and,  as  king  and  conqueror,  exacts  tribute 
from  all  correlated  arts,  indeed  from  all  nature."  These 
would  indeed  be  gold  mines  of  empiric  esthetics.  But 
what  artists  are  willing  and  qualified  for  such  self-analyses  ? 
For  the  highest  and  best  things  come  from  unconscious 
influences. 

The  success  of  the  journal  was  not  as  great  as  the 
collaborators  may  have  expected.  To  be  sure,  from  Zurich 
to  Hamburg  it  created  in  all  the  literary  circles  sensation, 
admiration,  or  anger,  according  to  circumstances;  to  be 
sure,  it  hurled  abroad  a  host  of  firebrands,  which  scorched 
here  and  kindled  there,  but  it  could  not  hope  to  penetrate 
the  great  mass  of  the  public.  For  that  the  thoughts  were 
too  deep,  the  language  too  wild  and  obscure.  A  good  many 
complaints  were  raised  on  this  point.  Furthermore,  there 
came  about,  not  as  a  result  of  religious  scepticism  (for  the 
reviewers  were  not  freethinkers),  but  because  of  their  na- 
tural and  human  interpretation  of  all  biblical  and  religious 
questions,  and  because  of  their  hostility  to  all  priestcraft, 


152  ^be  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

violent  conflicts  with  the  clergy,  which  compelled  them  to 
omit  theological  critiques  or  make  them  colourless.  But 
these  things  would  not  have  cost  the  journal  the  further 
collaboration  of  the  leaders.  None  of  them  was  seriously 
inclined  to  sacrifice  his  talents  to  it  continuously.  As 
early  as  July  Merck  became  tired  of  directing  and  resigned 
in  favour  of  Schlosser.  Herder  was  too  far  away,  had  too 
much  other  business,  and  intended  to  be  married  the 
following  year.  Schlosser  was  betrothed  and  was  looking 
elsewhere  for  a  position,  and  Goethe  was  the  last  man  who 
would  have  considered  the  journalistic  work  to  which  he 
consented  anything  more  than  a  reconnoitring  skirmish 
into  the  enemy's  territory.  So  at  the  end  of  the  year  the 
closely  allied  quadruple  leadership  retired  from  the  journal 
and  consigned  it  to  more  insignificant  assistants  under  the 
wings  of  the  Giessen  professor,  Karl  Friedrich  Bahrdt, 
whereby  it  lost  its  significance. 

Goethe  was  still  in  the  first  glow  of  his  critical  occupation 
and  in  the  first  stages  of  his  practice  as  a  counsellor  at  law, 
when  he  again  left  Frankfort  for  some  time.  His  father 
desired  that  as  a  preparation  for  a  higher  career  he  should 
work  for  several  months  in  the  Imperial  Chamber  in  Wetz- 
lar.  Goethe  was  glad  to  comply  with  the  wish,  for  he  had 
never  acquired  any  taste  for  his  native  city.  *'  Frankfort 
is  still  the  same  old  nest,"  he  wrote  to  Salzmann,  after  he 
had  been  home  just  three  months;  " spelunca,  a  wretched 
hole."  In  the  middle  of  May,  1772,  he  left  for  the  little 
city  on  the  Lahn  where  he  was  to  experience  a  new  idyll, 
for  which  "  the  fruitful  land  furnished  the  prose,  a  pure  love 
the  poetry." 


XIII 


LOTTE 

Conditions  at  the  Imperial  Chamber — Goethe's  love  of  nature — Favovirite 
havmts — Intercourse  with  the  people — Fondness  for  children — 
The  Round  Table — Kestner's  portrait  of  Goethe — Charlotte  Buff — 
Goethe's  first  meeting  with  her — Love  at  first  sight — Lotte's  faith- 
fulness to  her  betrothed — DeUcacy  of  the  situation — Goethe's 
passionateness — His  last  evening  with  the  betrothed  couple — He 
goes  away  without  taking  leave,  but  sends  a  note  explaining 
himself — Gots  von  Berlichingen — ^The  second  redaction — Merck 
shares  expense  of  publication. 

**  T  N  the  spring  there  came  here  from  Frankfort  a  certain 
I  Goethe,  by  occupation  a  jurist,  twenty- three  years 
old,  only  son  of  a  very  rich  father,*  with  the  purpose, 
as  his  father  thought,  of  gaining  some  knowledge  of  prac- 
tice, but  with  the  secret  determination  to  study  Homer, 
Pindar,  etc.,  and  do  whatever  else  his  genius,  habits  of 
thought,  and  heart  might  suggest  to  him." 

The  contrast  betw^een  the  practical,  matter-of-fact 
father,  and  the  son,  yielding  to  his  poetic  instincts,  cannot 
be  more  strikingly  put  than  in  these  words,  written  in 
Wetzlar,  in  November,  1772,  by  Kestner,  secretary  to  the 
ducal  legation  of  Bremen.  The  father  is  unswerving  in  his 
determination  to  make  a  jurist  of  his  son,  the  son  in  his  to 
become  a  poet  and  man.  "For  from  my  youth  on  it  was 
my  dimly  conscious  desire  and  purpose  to  develop  myself 
just  as  I  am,"  says  Goethe's  poetic  double  in  Wilhelm 
Meister. 

Conditions  at  the  Imperial  Chamber  were  an\i;hing  but 

*  The  elder  Goethe  was  only  moderately  well-off,  but  the  expression 
is  evidence  of  his  son's  aristocratic  and  generous  style  of  living. 

153 


]  54  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

calculated  to  overcome  the  poet's  reluctance  to  follow  the 
legal  profession.  The  German  supreme  court  was  a  dust- 
covered,  antiquated  mechanism,  irreparably  damaged  with- 
in and  without.  Its  rusty  wheels,  which  slowly  ploughed 
through  the  sand  of  16,000  undecided  cases,  gave  forth  a 
frightful  creak  at  every  turn.  Plaintiffs,  if  they  wished 
their  cases  to  proceed,  were  obHged  to  apply  to  the  spokes 
of  the  wheels  the  power  of  their  money  or  their  influence. 
The  wretchedness  of  this  "most  noble"  court  had  for  de- 
cades been  known  throughout  the  empire,  but  Emperor 
Joseph  II.  was  the  first  to  take  serious  measures  for  remedy- 
ing the  evil.  In  1767  a  court  of  inspection,  composed  of 
twenty-four  representatives  of  the  estates  of  Germany, 
assembled  in  Wetzlar  for  the  purpose  of  investigating,  first 
of  all,  the  weak  points  in  the  personnel  of  the  Imperial 
Chamber.  In  the  course  of  four  years  the  investigation 
resulted  in  the  arrest  of  three  most  noble  judges  for  the 
worst  kind  of  bribery.  Meanwhile  the  musty  atmosphere 
of  Wetzlar  had  affected  the  court  of  inspection,  produc- 
ing profound  discord  among  its  members  and  bringing  its 
business  to  a  standstill. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  things  which  Goethe  found, 
and  he  would  have  needed  to  be  either  an  enthusiastic  or 
an  ambitious  jurist,  if,  under  such  circumstances  and  hav- 
ing no  official  obligations,  he  had  taken  any  interest  what- 
ever in  the  miserable  proceedings  ^^  of  this  miserable  court. 
He  preferred  to  wait  and  see  what  occupations  his  genius 
and  heart  would  suggest. 

He  engaged  lodgings  in  the  narrow,  dirty  Gewands- 
gasse,  where  sun  and  moon  rarely  shone.  This  was  pre- 
sumably not  his  own  choice,  but  that  of  his  great-aunt,  the 
aged  wife  of  Privy  Councillor  Lange,  who,  with  her  two 
daughters,  lived  on  the  next  comer. 

The  uglier  and  darker  it  was  in  the  town,  the  more  he 
loved  to  live  out  in  the  country  where  Spring  had  lavished 
her  full  splendour.  "  Every  tree,  every  hedge,  is  a  bouquet 
of  blossoms  and  one  would  fain  be  a  cockchafer  and  float 
about  in  the  sea  of  sweet  fragrance."     Just  outside  the 


OLotte  155 

town  there  was  a  well  (der  Wildbacher) , — "A  well,  to 
which  I  am  drawn  by  a  spell,  like  Melusine  and  her  sisters. 
Not  a  day  passes  but  I  sit  there  an  hour.  Then  the  maids 
come  from  the  town  to  get  water,  the  most  innocent  and 
necessary  occupation  that  ever  the  daughters  of  kings 
themselves  engaged  in.  .  .  .  Recently  I  came  to  the 
well  and  found  a  young  maid,  who  had  set  her  vessel  on  the 
lowest  step  and  was  looking  about  to  see  if  some  friend 
would  not  come  along  and  help  her  Hft  it  to  her  head.  I 
went  down  and  looked  at  her.  'Shall  I  help  you,  lass?' 
said  I.  She  blushed  and  said :  '  Oh,  no,  sir! ' — No  ceremony. 
— She  adjusted  the  cushion  on  her  head  and  I  helped  her. 
She  thanked  me  and  went  away."  These  are  passages 
from  Werther,  which  without  doubt  reflect  Wetzlar  im- 
pressions and  experiences.  Another  of  Goethe's  favourite 
spots  was  the  garden  of  the  Meckelsburg  on  the  Lahnberg, 
from  which  there  opened  up  a  splendid  view  of  the  Lahn 
valley.  But  he  was  also  fond  of  lying  in  the  tall  grass 
down  by  one  of  the  little  brooks  emptying  into  the  Lahn 
near  Wetzlar,  with  Homer  in  his  hand  to  lull  his  raging 
heart  to  rest.  On  his  longer  walks  he  came  to  the  village 
of  Garbenheim  (Wahlheim  in  Werther),  and  there  he  found 
such  a  cozy  little  place  beneath  two  ancient  lindens  in  front 
of  the  church  that  he  gradually  came  to  prefer  it  to  all 
others.  On  a  cool  morning,  on  a  hot  afternoon,  on  a  warm 
moonlight  night,  he  could  be  found  there.  He  had  a  table 
and  a  chair  brought  from  the  inn  near  by  and  drank  his 
coffee  or  milk,  joked  with  the  village  children,  sketched,  or 
read. 

These  solitary  enjoyments  of  the  spring  landscape  did 
him  infinite  good.  In  the  scenery,  in  the  common  people, 
and  in  the  children  there  was  so  much  peace  and  happiness 
and  such  a  rich  field  for  his  poetic  and  artistic  eye,  that  he 
desired  nothing  more.  "The  common  people  know  me 
already  and  love  me,  especially  the  children,"  writes 
Werther.  "  Especially  the  children," — no  wonder.  He 
had  always  been  a  friend  of  children.  Among  Stock's 
children  and  Merck's  he  had  already  made  his  conquests. 


156  Zbc  %\fc  of  (Boetbe 

It  was  the  same  here.  On  his  very  first  walk  to  Garben- 
heim  he  formed  a  friendship  with  three  Httle  boys,  the 
youngest  of  whom  was  six  months,  the  second  about  four 
years  old.  On  leaving  he  gave  each  of  them  a  kreutzer, 
that  for  the  yoimgest  to  his  mother,  that  she  might  buy  a 
roll  for  the  little  one's  supper.  "Since  then,"  he  relates  in 
Werther,  "  I  often  go  there.  The  children  are  quite  used  to 
me.  They  get  sugar  when  I  drink  coffee  and  share  my 
bread  and  butter  and  clabber  in  the  evening.  On  Sunday 
they  always  get  the  kreutzers,  and  if  I  am  not  there  after 
prayers,  the  landlady  has  orders  to  distribute  them.  They 
are  confidential  and  tell  me  everything,  and  I  enjoy  es- 
pecially their  passions  and  simple  outbursts  of  desire,  when 
more  children  collect  from  the  village." 

Soon  he  was  to  become  the  joyously  greeted  "imcle"  of 
a  group  of  pretty  and  noisy  children  in  the  city.  His  circle 
of  acquaintance  had  gradually  widened,  although  such  was 
not  his  desire.  In  the  Gasthof  zum  Kronprinzen  there 
gathered  every  day  for  dinner  a  merry  company  of  young 
practitioners,  legation  secretaries,  plaintiffs,  and  defendants, 
who,  like  Goethe,  were  very  little  burdened  with  work;  and 
the  more  they  were  bored  by  the  confusion  and  formality 
of  the  Imperial  Chamber  and  the  court  of  inspection,  the 
more  they  sought  compensation  for  the  dull  atmosphere  of 
court  or  business  in  jokes  and  games.  They  organised  a 
Round  Table:  the  commander-in-chief  at  the  head,  the 
chancellor  at  his  side,  then  the  most  important  state  officials, 
finally  the  knights  in  the  order  of  their  seniority.  Whoever 
was  received  into  the  circle  was  dubbed  a  knight  with  the 
usual  formalities.  A  mill  served  as  a  castle,  the  miller  as 
seneschal.  A  calendar  contained  a  list  of  the  members  of 
the  order.  Goethe  became  a  member  and,  because  of  Gotz 
von  Berlichingen,  which  he  had  probably  brought  along  in 
manuscript,  received  the  name  of  "Gotz  the  Honest." 
Among  the  members  Goethe  became  more  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  Baron  von  Kielmannsegge,  of  Mecklenburg, 
a  competent  and  reliable  man;  von  Gou6,  of  Hanover, 
secretary  to   the  Brunswick   Legation,  an   odd,  dissipated 


%ottc  157 

hel-e  sprit,  who  later  became  known  by  his  M  astir  en,  a 
companion  piece  to  Werther;  Gotter,  of  Thuringia,  secretaiy 
to  the  Gotha  Legation,  whose  writings,  in  the  style  of  the 
French,  were  unimportant,  but  who  was  personally  amiable 
and  kind ;  and  Born,  son  of  the  chief  magistrate  of  Leipsic, 
a  former  acquaintance  of  Goethe's  at  the  university,  and 
like  him  a  practitioner  here  in  Wetzlar.  Nominally  mem- 
bers of  the  merry  order  of  knights,  but  rarely  present  at  the 
table,  were  the  two  legation  secretaries,  Jerusalem  and 
Kestner.  Wilhelm  Jerusalem  (bom  in  1747).  son  of  the 
famous  Brunswick  abbot,  and  a  friend  of  Lessing,  Eschen- 
burg,  and  the  crown  prince  of  Brunswick,  highly  self-conscious , 
extraordinarily  sensitive,  reticent,  and  pessimistic,  had  very 
little  to  do  with  Goethe,  and  there  would  scarcely  be  any 
need  of  mentioning  him  here,  if  his  suicide  a  few  weeks  after 
Goethe's  departure  from  Wetzlar  had  not  suggested  the 
writing  of  Werther.  Goethe  was,  on  the  other  hand,  closely 
associated  with  Johann  Christian  Kestner.  Kestner,  like 
Merck,  eight  years  older  than  Goethe,  was  a  native  of 
Hanover  and  an  excellent  man.  Quiet  and  somewhat  dry, 
as  is  natural  in  a  busy  jurist  and  official,  zealous  in  the 
performance  of  his  duty,  clever,  rational,  thorough,  he  was 
a  man  of  broad  interests  and  spotless  character.  Since  the 
beginning  of  the  inspection  in  Wetzlar  he  had  been  em- 
ployed as  the  secretary  to  Falcke,  the  ducal  ambassador 
from  Bremen,  and  the  most  able  jurist  in  the  court  of  in- 
spection. He  had  left  the  table,  not  from  a  love  of  solitude, 
but  because  of  the  great  amount  of  business  incumbent  upon 
him.  Consequently  he  did  not  become  acquainted  with 
Goethe  until,  two  or  three  weeks  after  the  latter's  arrival, 
he  was  one  day  taking  a  walk  with  Gotter  to  Garbenheim. 
"  I  found  him  there,"  he  relates  in  the  draught  of  a  letter  in- 
tended for  his  friend,  von  Hennings,  "lying  on  his  back  in 
the  grass  under  a  tree  conversing  with  some  friends  who 
stood  around  him, — an  epicurean  philosopher  (von  Goue), 
a  stoic  philosopher  (von  Kielmannsegge) ,  and  a  hybrid  be- 
tween the  two  (Dr.  Konig), — and  thoroughly  enjoying 
himself.     They  discussed  many  things,  some  of  them  very 


158  Zbc  Xife  of  6oetbc 

interesting.  This  time,  however,  I  formed  no  other  judg- 
ment of  him  than  that  he  is  no  ordinary  man."  Kestner 
attempts  for  his  friend  a  detailed  characterisation  of  the 
new  practitioner.  This  characterisation  offers  the  most  strik- 
ing and  comprehensive  picture  that  any  contemporary  has 
given  us  of  young  Goethe  as  he  appeared  between  Strasburg 
and  Weimar.  It  nms:  "  He  has  a  great  deal  of  talent,  is  a 
true  genius,  and  a  man  of  character.  He  possesses  an  ex- 
traordinarily lively  imagination  and  hence  generally  ex- 
presses himself  in  images  and  similes.  He  also  says  himself 
that  he  always  expresses  himself  figuratively,  and  can 
never  express  himself  literally;  but  that  when  he  is  older 
he  hopes  to  think  and  speak  his  thoughts  as  they  are. 
In  all  his  emotions  he  is  impetuous,  and  yet  has  often 
great  power  over  himself.  His  manner  of  thinking  is  no- 
ble. Free  from  prejudices,  he  acts  as  seems  best  to  him, 
without  troubling  himself  about  reputation,  fashion,  or 
convention.  All  constraint  is  odious  to  him.  He  loves 
children  and  entertains  himself  w^ith  them  a  great  deal. 
He  is  bizarre  and  there  are  several  things  in  his  manners 
and  outward  bearing  that  might  make  him  disagreeable. 
But  with  children  and  w^omen  and  many  others  he  has 
nevertheless  a  good  standing.  He  has  a  very  great  respect 
for  the  female  sex.  In  principiis  he  is  not  yet  firm  and  is 
only  beginning  to  strive  after  a  definite  system.  He  has  a 
very  high  opinion  of  Rousseau, — is,  however,  no  blind  wor- 
shipper of  him.  He  is  not  what  one  calls  orthodox,  yet  not 
out  of  pride  or  caprice,  or  for  the  sake  of  putting  on  airs. 
On  certain  fundamental  things  he  unbosoms  himself  to 
very  few,  and  does  not  like  to  disturb  others  in  the  con- 
tentment of  their  own  ideas.  It  is  true  he  hates  scepticism, 
strives  after  truth  and  definite  ideas  on  certain  funda- 
mental questions;  thinks,  too,  that  he  already  has  clearly 
defined  ideas  on  the  most  important  of  them,  but,  as  far  as 
I  have  obser\'ed,  that  is  not  yet  the  case.  He  never  goes 
to  church,  nor  to  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  seldom  prays; 
for  he  says:  'I  am  not  hypocrite  enough  for  that.'  On 
certain  subjects  he  is  at  times  in  repose ;  at  times,  however, 


Xotte  159 

anything  but  that.  He  venerates  the  Christian  religion, 
but  not  in  the  form  in  which  our  theologians  present  it. 
He  believes  in  a  future  life  and  a  better  state.  He  strives 
after  truth,  but  values  the  feeling  of  it  higher  than  its 
demonstration.  He  has  accomplished  a  great  deal  for  his 
age,  is  well-informed  and  well-read,  but  he  has  thought  and 
reasoned  still  more.  His  chief  study  has  been  belles- 
lettres  and  the  fine  arts,  or  rather  all  fields  of  knowledge 
except  the  so-called  bread-and-butter  sciences."  On  the 
margin  of  this  rough  draught  Kestner  added :  "I  was  going 
to  describe  him,  but  it  would  take  too  long;  for  there  is  a 
great  deal  to  be  said  of  him.  In  a  word,  he  is  a  very  re- 
markable man." 

This  very  remarkable  man  unintentionally  caused  hon- 
est Kestner  many  an  unhappy  hour.  Kestner  had  been 
betrothed  for  four  years.  In  1768  he  had  secretly  plighted 
his  troth  to  the  fifteen-year-old  Charlotte  Buff,  daughter  of 
the  Steward  of  the  Teutonic  Order,  That  serious,  solid 
Kestner  engaged  to  marry  such  a  very  young  girl  is  the 
best  of  evidence  that  his  fiancee  must  have  possessed  un- 
commonly superior  qualities.  And  such  indeed  was  the 
case, 

A  blue-eyed  blonde  with  a  most  agreeable  expression, 
neat  in  figure,  perfect  in  health,  merry,  with  a  shade  of 
sauciness,  positive  and  sure,  burdened  with  no  scholarly 
education,  of  fine  feelings,  but  free  from  all  maudlin  senti- 
mentality, energetic  and  fond  of  work — a  refreshing  sight. 
She  had  early  become  accustomed  to  a  busy  life.  For 
Steward  Buff  was  richly  blessed  with  children.  Of  the 
sixteen  bom,  eleven  had  lived,  and  so  the  second  daughter, 
Lotte,  stronger  and  clearer-headed  than  the  oldest,  KaroHne, 
had  her  hands  full  with  washing  and  dressing  the  little  ones 
and  filling  their  hungry  mouths.  Besides,  their  excellent 
mother  had  died  more  than  a  year  before  and  the  manage- 
ment of  the  large  household  had  fallen  upon  Lotte,  But 
as  her  duties  multiplied,  the  strength  and  cheerfulness  of 
her  rare  nature  were  correspondingly  increased.  Her  ap- 
pearance never  betrayed  the  fact  that  she  was  burdened 


i6o  Zbc  Xlfe  of  Goetbe 

with  work  or  worry.  From  early  morning  till  late  at  night 
she  accomplished  her  daily  work  as  if  it  were  play.  "  It  is 
well-nigh  a  miracle,"  remarked  the  astonished  Kestner. 
True,  there  was  not  much  time  for  the  reading  of  books  or 
idle  entertainment.  Her  hands  scarcely  found  time  to 
rest  when  visitors  came.  Indeed  the  guests  were  not  in- 
frequently put  to  work,  and  Goethe  often  helped  her  pick 
fruit  or  was  put  to  work  with  Kestner  at  cutting  up  beans. 

Goethe  became  acquainted  with  this  highly  gifted  girl 
at  a  little  ball,  which  some  young  people  from  the  Imperial 
Chamber  had  arranged  for  the  third  Whitsuntide  holiday 
in  Volpertshausen,  an  hour  and  a  half  from  Wetzlar.  Kest- 
ner, detained  by  official  business,  was  unable  to  go  out  with 
the  party.  Consequently  Lotte  joined  Goethe's  partner — 
we  do  not  know  her  name — and  his  cousin,  Fraulein  Lange, 
and  it  became  Goethe's  duty  to  call  for  them  at  the 
Deutschordenshof,  or,  as  they  said  for  short,  Das  Deutsche 
Haus.  As  he  entered  the  house  he  found  Lotte,  as  we  may 
assume,  in  the  position  which  he  describes  in  Werther:  "in 
ball  costume  and  cutting  bread  for  her  little  brothers  and 
sisters."  *  Everything  else,  too, — the  drive  out,  the  ball, 
the  return, — may  have  occurred,  on  the  whole,  as  it  is 
pictured  in  Werther.  Only  two  important  facts  are 
changed.  Goethe  did  not  yet  know  that  Lotte  was  be- 
trothed to  Kestner,  and  Kestner  did  not  stay  away  from  the 
ball,  as  the  Albert  of  Werther,  but  came  a  few  hours  later. 

This  one  meeting  decided  Goethe's  love,  "My  genius 
was  an  evil  genius,"  he  writes  shortly  after  his  departure 
from  Wetzlar,  "when  he  drove  me  out  to  Volpertshausen. 
And  yet  a  good  genius.  I  could  not  wish  to  have  spent  my 
days  in  Wetzlar  in  any  better  way."  It  was  natural  that 
he  should  inquire  after  Lotte 's  health  the  next  day,  and  that 

*  "Charlotte  cutting  bread  and  butter  for  the  children — the  scene  of 
the  ball — the  children  clinging  round  Werther  for  sugar,  and  pictures  of 
that  kind,  betray  so  little  inventive  power  that  they  have  excited  the 
ridicule  of  some  English  critics  to  whom  poetry  is  a  thing  of  pomp,  not  the 
beautiful  vesture  of  reality.  The  beauty  and  art  of  Werther  is  not  in 
the  incidents,  but  in  the  representation.  What  is  art  but  representa- 
tion?"— Lewes,  Goethe,  i.,  172. — C, 


Uotte  i6i 

was  the  beginning  of  his  intimate  relations  with  the  Deutsche 
Haus.  Before  long  he  became  the  favourite  of  all,  "I 
know  not  what  attraction  it  is  that  I  must  have  for  people, 
so  many  like  me,"  he  says  on  one  occasion  in  Werther.  And 
his  mother  wrote  in  this  connection:  "It  is  the  happy  for- 
tune of  Doctor  Wolf,*  that  all  the  people  with  whom  he  is 
closely  associated  love  him."  His  fondest  friends  were  the 
children.  But  what  would  he  not  do  to  please  them?  He 
played  and  romped  with  them,  let  them  crawl  over  him, 
told  the  dear  little  boys  fairy  tales  or  brought  them 
something  good  and  pretty.  "The  steward's  children  are 
naughty  enough  already;  Goethe  is  spoiling  them  com- 
pletely," complained  the  family  physician.  The  honest 
old  steward  himself  learned  to  love  him  as  a  son,  and 
Lotte ? 

A  time  of  severe  trial  was  approaching  for  Lotte.  A 
man  of  uncommon  beauty  and  fascinating  qualities  of 
heart  and  mind  pays  her  the  most  affectionate  homage; 
and  beside  him  stands  her  fiance,  one  of  the  most  excellent 
men  on  God's  earth,  and  yet  without  a  spark  of  that  divine 
glory  which  plays  about  her  friend  from  Frankfort.  In 
which  direction  will,  indeed  must,  her  heart's  balance  in- 
cline? one  might  ask.  And  yet — it  may  have  been  her  in- 
nate fidelity,  it  may  have  been  a  vague  suspicion  that  that 
divinely  favoured  youth  was  only  a  star,  which  one  might 
behold  with  delight,  but  which  one  might  not  reach  for 
without  falling  into  the  abyss — she  remained  firm  and 
wavered  not, 

Kestner  also  conducted  himself  admirably.  He  was 
glad  that  Goethe  was  so  pleased  with  his  fiancee,  and  had 
perfect  confidence  in  Lotte's  fidelity  and  his  friend  Goethe's 
trustworthiness.  And  little  as  he  was  deceived  in  Lotte, 
just  as  little  was  he  in  Goethe.  As  soon  as  Goethe  learned 
of  their  betrothal  he  was  firmly  determined  that  he  would 
do  nothing  to  disturb  their  peace.  At  the  same  time  he, 
on  his  part,  had  confidence  in  Lotte,  that  she  would  not 
misunderstand  his  attentions.     When,  on  one  occasion,  his 

*  Wolf,  short  for  Wolfgang,  was  one  of  Goethe's  common  nicknames. 

VOL.  I.  —  II. 


1 62  Zbc  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

friend  Bom  called  his  attention  to  the  gossip  of  the  town 
and  added,  "  If  I  were  Kestner,  I  should  not  like  it.  What 
can  it  lead  to?  I  presume  you  will  separate  them?"  and 
the  like,  Goethe  said  to  him,  "Well,  I  am  fool  enough  to 
consider  her  an  extraordinary  girl;  if  she  should  deceive 
me,  and  prove  to  be  a  common  flirt,  and  if  she  were  to  use 
Kestner  as  a  screen  for  her  manoeuvres  in  order  the  more 
securely  to  lavish  her  charms,  the  moment  I  discovered  it 
would  be  the  last  of  our  acquaintance."  Nothing  but 
these  mutually  pure  and  high  sentiments  made  it  possible 
for  the  three,  who  had  gotten  into  such  peculiar  and  delicate 
relations,  to  pass  in  happy  harmony  the  beautiful  months 
of  spring  and  summer. 

Goethe,  not  being  burdened  by  official  duties,  was  the 
most  frequent  guest  at  the  Deutsche  Haus.  In  the  mani- 
fold duties  of  overseeing  the  fields  and  meadows,  kitchen 
garden  and  flower  garden  he  was  Lotte's  constant  com- 
panion. If  Kestner's  business  permitted  he  was  also  pre- 
sent. Meetings  in  her  home  alternated  with  excursions 
and  walks  into  the  environs.  Thus  one  day  resembled 
another  and  all  seemed  to  be  holidays.  The  whole  calendar 
should  have  been  printed  in  red.  The  more  Goethe  trusted 
himself  and  Lotte  the  more  he  gave  the  rein  to  his  feelings 
and  the  more  thoughtlessly  he  became  involved  in  the  toils 
of  his  growing  fondness  for  her.  His  ever-busy  fancy  may 
have  played  a  part  in  this.  It  imconsciously  coloured 
things  with  its  own  rosy  light.  Thus  in  Dresden,  when  he 
was  wholly  devoted  to  Dutch  art,  his  lodgings  in  the  home 
of  a  cobbler  had  appeared  to  him  as  a  painting  by  Ostade. 
Here  in  Wetzlar  he  was  so  full  of  Homer,  that  the  maids  at 
the  well  reminded  him  of  the  daughters  of  kings  in  the 
heroic  age,  and  the  haughty,  ox-roasting  wooers  of  Penelope 
were  alive  before  him  when  he  cooked  his  green  peas  in  the 
inn  kitchen  at  Garbenheim.  I  wonder  whether,  there  in 
the  Deutsche  Haus  with  its  gardens  and  fields,  he  did  not 
also  perceive  the  palace  of  Alcinous,  and  in  Lotte  the  lovely 
Nausicaa?  Thus  passion  may  have  heated  fancy  and 
fancy,  in  turn,  passion.    He  sought  to  calm  his  heated  blood 


Xottc  163 

by  poetic  reproduction  of  what  he  experienced  and  saw. 
When  it  was  not  rhythmic  poetry  into  which  he  poured  the 
fukiess  of  his  heart,  it  was  letters  and  even  reviews  for  the 
Frankfurter  Gelehrten  Anzeigen.  Hence  the  maiden  that 
he  painted  with  such  inspiration  in  the  review  of  the  Poems 
of  a  Polish  Jew  was  no  other  than  Lotte. 

The  more  his  love  for  Lotte  increased,  the  nearer  came 
the  possibility  of  a  conflict,  in  spite  of  the  innocence  of  all 
his  purposes.  "There  were,"  Kestner  relates,  "many  re- 
markable scenes,  in  which  my  regard  for  Lottchen  was 
heightened  and  he  became  more  precious  to  me  as  a  friend ; 
but  I  was  often  inwardly  astonished  that  love  can  make  such 
strange  creatures  even  of  the  strongest  and  otherwise  most 
independent  minds.  For  the  most  part  I  pitied  him;  and 
had  many  an  inward  struggle,  when  I  thought,  on  the  one 
hand,  I  might  not  be  in  a  position  to  make  Lottchen  as 
happy  as  he  could  make  her,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  could 
not  endure  the  thought  of  losing  her."  But  the  three  pure 
hearts  always  found  it  easy  to  compromise  any  differences 
arising  from  Goethe's  passionateness.  Thus  we  learn,  for 
example,  from  Kestner's  diary,  that  once,  about  the  middle 
of  August,  Goethe  had  given  Lotte  a  kiss.  Honest  Lotte 
had  reported  it  to  her  betrothed,  and  he  was  a  little  vexed ; 
whereupon  Lotte  had  undertaken  to  cool  Goethe's  passion. 
"On  the  fourteenth  [August]  in  the  evening,"  the  diary 
continues,  "Goethe  returning  from  a  walk  came  up  to  the 
house.  He  was  treated  indifferently  and  soon  went  away. 
On  the  fifteenth  he  was  sent  to  Atzbach  to  take  an  apricot 
to  the  stewardess.  At  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  he  came 
to  see  us  and  found  us  sitting  out  in  front  of  the  door ;  his 
flowers  were  indifferently  left  untouched;  he  felt  it  and 
threw  them  away ;  spoke  in  similes ;  I  walked  with  Goethe 
through  the  streets  till  twelve  o'clock;  remarkable  con- 
versation, seeing  that  he  was  full  of  anger  and  had  all  sorts 
of  imaginations,  which  we  finally  laughed  at,  leaning  against 
a  wall  in  the  moonlight." 

And  it  was  well  so;  and  certainly  there  would  scarcely 
have  been  any  further  need  of   the  lecture  which  Lotte 


1 64  ^be  %\tc  of  (Boctbe 

gave  him  the  next  day  to  induce  him  to  guard  himself  more 
carefully.  Two  days  later  he  had  an  engagement  to  meet 
Merck  in  Giessen,  and  as  Lotte  had  also  gone  thither  on  a 
visit,  his  critical  friend  Merck  became  acquainted  with  her. 
He  foimd  Lotte,  as  he  wrote  his  wife,  worthy  of  the  praise 
which  Goethe  had  so  enthusiastically  lavished  upon  her  in 
his  letters,  but  he  felt  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if  his 
hot-blooded,  fantastic  Wolfgang  were  turned  away  from 
her.  Accordingly  on  the  next  day,  having  met  a  queenly 
friend  of  Lotte 's  in  Wetzlar  he  scolded  him  thoroughly  for 
not  having  courted  this  Juno,  especially  as  she  was  free  and 
without  wooers.  He  added,  that  Goethe  failed  to  see  what 
was  best  for  him,  and  heartily  disapproved  of  his  special 
hobby  of  wasting  time.  Merck  would  have  been  glad  to 
take  Goethe  home  with  him,  and  Goethe,  too,  would  have 
been  glad  to  go,  but  "what  was  the  use  of  intending  when 
he  saw  the  faces  around  him?" 

The  twenty-eighth  was  Goethe's  birthday  as  well  as 
Kestner's.  On  the  twenty-seventh  Goethe  sat  with  Lotte 
almost  all  day.  In  the  evening  they  cut  up  beans  till  mid- 
night, and  the  twenty-eighth  was  solemnly  ushered  in  with 
tea  and  friendly  faces.  From  Kestner  Goethe  received  as 
a  present  the  little  Wettstein  edition  of  Homer,  that  he 
might  no  longer  need  to  carry  the  large  Ernesti  edition  on 
his  walks.  Goethe  tarried  a  fortnight  longer,  postponing 
his  departure  from  one  day  to  another.  Finally  the  situa- 
tion became  dangerous,  because  of  the  passionate  warmth 
which  his  relations  with  Lotte  had  assumed.  It  was  his 
desire  to  avoid  causing  the  lovers  even  the  slightest  trouble. 
So  he  decided  to  leave  on  the  morning  of  September  nth. 
He  told  the  betrothed  couple  nothing  of  his  intentions,  and 
so  the  last  evening  which  he  spent  with  them  was  doubly 
rich  in  reminiscences.  By  chance  Lotte  began  to  speak  of 
the  condition  after  life,  of  meeting  and  recognising  one  an- 
other in  the  beyond.  This  brought  her  to  the  death  of  her 
mother,  and  she  herself  and  her  hearers  were  deeply  moved. 
Then  she  brought  the  conversation  to  an  end  and  suggested 
that  it  was  time  to  go  home.     Goethe,  profoundly  moved, 


Xotte  165 

sprang  up,  kissed  her  hand,  and  exclaimed:  "  We  shall  see 
each  other  again,  we  shall  recognise  each  other  in  whatever 
form  we  may  be.  I  am  ready  to  go,  but  if  I  were  to  say, 
'for  ever,'  I  should  not  be  able  to  bear  it.  Farewell.  We 
shall  see  each  other  again."  "To-morrow,  I  think,"  re- 
plied Lotte  jokingly,  for  she  had  recently,  no  doubt,  often 
heard  such  solemn  words  of  parting  from  the  poet.  With 
this  they  separated. 

On  reaching  his  room  Goethe  dashed  off  the  following 
lines:  "  He  is  gone,  Kestner,  when  you  receive  this  note,  he 
is  gone.  Give  Lottchen  the  enclosed  note.  I  was  firmly 
composed,  but  yotir  conversation  has  torn  me  asunder. 
At  this  moment  I  can  say  nothing  to  you  but  farewell.  If 
I  had  tarried  a  moment  longer  with  you  I  could  not  have 
restrained  myself.  Now  I  am  alone,  and  to-morrow  I  shall 
leave,     O  my  poor  head!  " 

The  note  to  Lotte  ran:  "I  surely  hope  to  return,  but 
God  only  knows  when.  Lotte,  how  it  moved  my  heart  to 
listen  to  you,  when  I  knew  it  was  the  last  time  I  should  see 
you!  Not  the  last  time,  and  yet  I  am  going  away  to-mor- 
row. What  spirit  led  you  to  that  conversation?  It  gave 
me  occasion  to  say  all  that  was  in  my  heart.  Ah,  I  was 
more  intent  upon  this  world  down  here  below,  upon  your 
hand,  which  I  kissed  for  the  last  time!  The  room,  to  which 
I  shall  never  return,  and  your  dear  father,  who  saw  me  to 
the  door  for  the  last  time !  I  am  now  alone  and  may  weep. 
I  leave  you  happy  and  shall  always  remain  in  your  hearts. 
And  shall  see  you  again — ^but  'not  to-morrow'  means 
'never.'  Tell  my  boys:  '  He  is  gone.'  I  cannot  write  any 
more." 

The  next  morning  he  added  a  second  letter  to  Lotte. 
"My  luggage  is  packed,  Lotte,  and  the  day  is  breaking; 
another  quarter  of  an  hour  and  I  am  gone.  The  pictures 
which  I  forgot  and  which  you  will  divide  among  the  children 
may  serve  as  an  excuse  for  my  writing,  Lotte,  as  I  have 
nothing  to  write.  For  you  know  all,  know  how  happy  I 
have  been  these  days  and  I  am  going  to  the  dearest,  best 
people,  but  why  away  from  you?     But  it  is  so,  and  it  is  my 


1 66  Zbc  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

fate  that  I  cannot  in  reality  add  to  to-day  to-morrow  and 
day  after  to-morrow,  as  I  may  often  have  done  in  jest. 
Be  cheerful  under  all  circumstances,  dear  Lotte;  you  are 
happier  than  a  himdred  others ;  but  do  not  be  indifferent, 
and  I,  dear  Lotte,  am  happy  that  I  read  in  your  eyes  that 
you  believe  I  shall  never  change.  Adieu,  a  thousand 
adieus!" 

With  that  he  was  away  from  Wetzlar  and  from  the 
Deutsche  Haus,  the  scene  of  four  months  of  happiness. 
How  was  his  departure  received  there?  Kestner  entered 
in  his  diary: 

"September  ii,  1772. 

"This  morning  Goethe  went  away  without  taking  leave. 
He  sent  me  a  note  with  some  books.  He  had  long  since 
said  that  about  this  time  he  should  take  a  journey  to  Co- 
blentz,  where  the  military  paymaster,  Merck,  expected  him, 
and  that  he  should  not  say  good-bye  but  set  off  suddenly. 
So  I  had  expected  it.  But  that  I  was,  notwithstanding, 
unprepared  for  it,  I  have  felt  deep  in  my  soul.  That  morn- 
ing I  came  home  from  the  office.  '  Herr  Doctor  Goethe 
sent  this  at  ten  o'clock.'  I  saw  the  books  and  also  the  note, 
and  knew  that  it  would  say:  'He  is  gone,'  and  was  quite 
dejected.  Soon  after  Hans  [Buff]  came  to  ask  me  if  he 
were  really  gone.  Frau  Lange  had  taken  occasion  to  send 
word  by  a  maid :  '  It  was  very  ill-mannered  of  Doctor 
Goethe  to  leave  in  this  way  without  saying  good-bye.' 
Lottchen  sent  back  the  reply :  '  Why  did  you  not  teach 
your  nephew  better?'  Lottchen,  in  order  to  be  certain, 
sent  a  box  which  she  had  of  Goethe's,  to  his  house.  He  was 
no  longer  there.  At  noon  Frau  Lange  had  again  sent 
word,  that  she  was  going  to  write  Doctor  Goethe's  mother, 
how  he  had  conducted  himself.  Every  one  of  the  children 
in  the  Deutsche  Haus  was  saying:  'Doctor  Goethe  is  gone!' 
At  noon  I  talked  with  Herr  von  Bom,  who  had  accompanied 
him  on  horseback  as  far  as  Braunfels.  Goethe  had  told 
him  of  our  conversation  last  evening.  Goethe  had  gone 
away  in  very  low  spirits.  In  the  afternoon  I  brought 
I^tte  the  notes  from  Goethe.     She  was  sorry  about  his  de- 


Xotte  167 

parture  and  while  she  was  reading  them  the  tears  came  into 
her  eyes.  Yet  she  was  glad  that  he  was  gone,  as  she  could 
not  give  him  what  he  desired.  We  spoke  only  of  him, 
neither  could  I  think  of  anything  else  than  him." 

If  later  associations  did  not  prove  it,  these  simple  lines 
would  show  how  pure  and  cordial  were  the  mutual  relations 
of  the  three  noble  souls.  Ten  days  later  Kestner  was  in 
Frankfort.  "At  four  o'clock  I  went  to  see  Schlosser  and 
lo!  Goethe  and  Merck  were  there.  It  was  an  indescribable 
joy  for  me ;  he  fell  upon  my  neck  and  almost  squeezed  the 
life  out  of  me.  ,  .  .  We  went  out  for  a  walk  on  the 
rampart,  etc.  We  met  a  woman  unexpectedly.  When 
she  saw  Goethe,  joy  beamed  from  her  countenance,  she  ran 
up  to  him  suddenly  and  into  his  arms.  They  kissed  each 
other  cordially;   it  was  the  sister  of  Antoinette  [Gerock]." 

S5or  bem  @lucflirf)en  ^er  tritt  ^^obii^,  ber  pt)t^il'c^e  Sieger, 
Unb  ber  bie  §crjen  bejiuingt,  5lmor,  ber  Iddjelnbe  @ott.* 

While  in  the  midst  of  his  revelling  in  nature  and  love  in 
Wetzlar,  Goethe  had  been  deeply  pained  that  Herder  had 
sent  back  Gotz  with  a  fault-finding  critique.  Everything 
was  a  mere  product  of  the  intellect,  he  said;  furthermore, 
Shakespeare  had  completely  ruined  him.  The  disciple 
had  gone  too  far  in  imitating  his  master  to  suit  the  great 
apostle  of  Shakespeare.  Of  what  avail  to  the  author  was 
the  approval  of  Merck  and  Salzmann  by  the  side  of  this 
weighty  judgment  ?  But  he  was  not  in  the  least  discouraged. 
"  It  must  be  melted,"  he  answered  Herder  in  July,  "  purified 
of  dross,  amalgamated  with  a  more  precious  metal,  and 
recast.  Then  it  will  be  shown  to  you  again."  But  for  such 
a  recasting  there  was  in  Wetzlar  no  time,  no  tranquillity, 
and  when  he  left  Wetzlar  he  became  so  fond  of  art  through 
his  study  of  painting  that  he  discarded  all  literary  work  for 
the  first  months  and  devoted  almost  all  his  leisure  hours  to 
drawing,  engraving,  and  etching;  indeed  on  his  long  sojourn 
in  Darmstadt  he  even  infected  Merck  with  his  enthusiasm, 

*  Just  in  front  of  the  man  walks  Phoebus,  the  Pythian  victor. 
And  the  subduer  of  hearts,  Amor,  the  sweet  smiling  god. 


1 68  tTbc  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

saying  that  he  would  become  a  painter  yet.  "We  ad- 
vised him  very  strongly  to  do  so,"  writes  Karoline  Flachs- 
land  in  the  naive  speech  of  the  Darmstadt  saints.  But 
after  his  return  to  Frankfort  in  the  middle  of  December, 
his  irrepressible  poetic  instinct  began  to  reassert  itself. 
He  took  up  Gotz  again,  erased  the  crude,  painful,  and  ex- 
aggerated features,  limited  the  number  of  figures  in  his 
eloquence,  made  the  expressions  more  pithy  and  archaic, 
looked  after  the  motives  more  carefully,  restrained  for 
artistic  reasons  his  favouritism  for  Adelheid,  to  whom  he  had 
given  entirely  too  much  influence  in  the  dramatic  develop- 
ment, sought  to  alleviate  the  fragmentary  condition  of  the 
action,  and  in  a  few  weeks  the  piece  lay  before  him  in  its 
second  and  improved  form.  Even  this  he  did  not  con- 
sider mature  enough  for  publication,  but  only  as  a  pre- 
paratory study,  which  he  some  day  would  make  the  basis 
of  a  further  redaction  to  which  he  would  devote  more 
labour  and  thought.  Fortunately  just  at  this  stage  Merck 
came  to  Frankfort,  at  the  beginning  of  February,  1773, 
and  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  this  everlasting  filing 
and  recasting.  It  only  made  a  thing  different  and  seldom 
better;  one  must  see  how  what  one  has  written  affects  the 
public,  and  then  always  take  up  something  new.  When 
Goethe  objected  that  he  feared  the  publishers  might  refuse 
the  piece, — for  how  would  they  judge  the  work  of  an  author 
unknown  and  presumptuous  besides? — Merck  overcame 
this  objection,  too,  by  offering  to  take  part  of  the  risk  in 
the  publication  of  the  play.  Goethe  was  to  provide  the 
paper,  he  would  be  responsible  for  the  printing.  Goethe 
very  wiUingly  accepted  the  offer,  and  in  May  the  wild 
product  was  printed,  in  Jime  published. 


XIV 

GOTZ   VON    BERLICHINGEN 

Purpose  in  writing  the  play — Dramatised  biography — Not  intended  for 
stage — Shakespeare  the  oracle — Longing  for  great  men — A 
Weislingen-drama  invented  and  interwoven  with  the  Gotz-drama 
— Weaknesses  of  the  plot — GOtz,  Adelheid,  Marie,  WeisUngen — 
The  drama  an  atonement  for  Goethe's  great  wrong  to  Friederike 
— The  humanistic  spirit  of  Brother  Martin — The  drama  a  protest — 
Innovation  in  technique  and  language — Reception  of  the  piece  by 
contemporaries — Lessing's  adverse  criticism — The  drama  to-day: 
its  great  world,  great  art,  great  characters. 


M 


Y  son  never  dreamed,"  said  Goethe's  mother*^  in 
1 781  to  Grossman,  the  actor,  "of  writing  his 
Gotz  for  the  stage.  He  fotind  some  traces  of  this 
excellent  man  in  a  law  book,  sent  to  Nuremberg  for  Gotz's 
autobiography,  thought  that  it  was  dramatic  in  its  original 
form,  interwove  a  few  episodes,  and  sent  it  out  into  the 
world."  And  Goethe  himself,  while  at  work  on  the  first 
draught,  wrote  to  Salzmann :  "  I  am  dramatising  the  history 
of  one  of  the  noblest  Germans,  am  rescuing  the  memory  of 
an  honest  man.  .  .  .  When  it  is  done  you  shall  have 
it,  and  I  hope  to  give  you  no  little  pleasure,  as  I  am  resus- 
citating for  you  one  of  our  noble  ancestors  such  as,  im- 
fortunately,  we  know  only  from  their  tombstones." 

With  these  words  Goethe  corroborates  his  mother's 
statements  with  regard  to  his  main  purpose.  He  desires  to  \  /f^^ 
rescue  the  memory  of  an  honest  man  and  call  back  to  life  *  ^"^^ 
a  noble  ancestor  for  the  benefit  of  his  contemporaries.  To 
this  end  he  chooses  the  dramatic  form — not  with  an  eye  to 
the  stage,  but  because  it  appears  to  him  the  most  effective 
way  of  endowing  his  hero  with  life.     He  expressed  his  true 

169 


\ 


I70  Zbc  Xlfe  of  6oetbe 

purpose  also  in  the  title  which  he  put  on  the  inanuscript  of 
the  first  draught:  History  of  Gottfried  von  Berlichingen 
Dramatised. 

Strange  youth,  who  wishes  to  give  in  the  drama  the 
biography  of  a  brave  man !  Strange,  but  it  was  only  a  true 
symptom  of  a  strange  period. 

Herder  had  preached  that  history  was  the  essence  of  the 
Shakespearian  drama,  and  put  the  main  stress  on  the  great 
event.  "  History,"  echoed  the  younger  generation,  and  put 
the  accent  on  the  great  man.  To  chisel  him  out  of  history 
and  put  him  on  the  stage  so  that  everybody  would  ex- 
claim, "There  is  a  fellow  for  you,"  seemed  to  the  younger 
men  to  be  the  highest  mission  of  the  dramatist.  "The 
mummy  of  an  old  hero  which  the  biographer  anoints  and 
perfumes,  and  into  which  the  poet  breathes  his  spirit. 
Then  he  arises  again,  the  noble  departed,  and  in  trans- 
figured beauty  comes  forth  from  the  books  of  history  and 
lives  with  us  again.  Oh,  how  shall  I  find  words  to  indicate 
this  cordial  feeling  for  the  resurrected  dead — and  should 
we  not  gladly  follow  them  to  Alexandria,  to  Rome,  through 
all  the  events  of  their  lives,  and  ourselves  be  able  to  say: 
'  Blessed  are  the  eyes  that  have  seen  thee '  ?  Have  you  not 
a  desire  to  look  upon  them,  gentlemen,  and  see  in  even 
their  smallest  acts  how  they  bear  the  rewards  and  buffets  of 
fortune?"  Thus  exclaims  Lenz  in  his  remarks  on  the 
theatre — perhaps  only  echoing  Goethe's  effusions  *  in  his 
peculiar  way.  And  this  longing  for  great  men,  always 
alive  in  the  heart  of  youth,  must  have  burned  with  great 
intensity  in  an  age  of  pettiness  and  weakness.  The  more 
the  present  was  lacking  in  great  men,  or  at  least  such  as  the 
heart  longed  for,  the  more  zealously  they  were  dug  up  out 
of  the  graves  of  the  past.  Caesar,  Socrates,  Faust,  Gotz, 
and  soon  Mahomet  also  occupied  Goethe's  mind.  If  Gotz 
was  the  first  to  mature,  not  the  least  cause  was  the  fact 
that  in  him  were  embodied  the  virtues  which  were  upper- 
most in  Goethe's  affections  in  the  years  1770  and  1771, 
because  he  saw  in  the  world  the  greatest  lack  of  these  very 

*  Cf.  Goethe's  letter  to  Salzmann,  quoted  above. 


(5ot3  von  Bcrllcblngen  171 

virtues,  viz. :  bravery,  independence,  honesty,  kindness,  a  (^ 
straightforward,  spirited,  free,  and  noble  life,  Honest  ^""^ 
^Gotz  with  his  iron  hand  was  to  draw  the  world  out  of  the  ^ 
mire  into  which  it  had  fallen.  '  It  is  only  by  these  political 
and  artistic  purposes  that  we  can  explain  Goethe's  temp- 
tation l;o  dramatise  the  biography  of  Gotz.  For  a  less 
dramatic  subject  can  scarcely  be  found;  a  chronological 
series  of  raids  and  campaigns,  temporary  leadership  in  the 
Peasants'  War,  and  finally  a  long,  peaceful  old  age  in  his 
ancestral  castle.  The  really  dramatic  elements  had  to  be  f^\ 
entirely  invented  by  Goethe.  He  did  this  by  creating  the  " — 
characters  of  WeisHngen  and  those  associated  with  him, 
viz.:  Adelheid,  Marie,  and  Franz;  that  is  to  say,  the  poet  ' 
welded  upon  the  Gotz-drama,  or,  better,  upon  the  dialogued 
history  of  Gotz,  a  Weislingen-drama.  This  Weislingen- 
drama  is  to  such  an  extent  the  prime  motive  of  the  action 
that  the  question  has  been  justly  raised,  whether  the  drama 
might  not  be  more  fittingly  called  Adalbert  von  Weislingen. 
Everything  concerning  Gotz  is  treated  epically,  an 
epical  biography,  as  it  were.  This  deprives  the  Gotz-drama 
of  a  centralised  operating  cause,  such  as  is  essential  even  in 
an  epic.  Its  unity,  on  the  other  hand,  is  based  solely  upon 
the  personality  of  the  hero.  The  drama  proceeds  with  a 
chain  of  adventures  until  the  chain  finds  its  necessary  end 
in  the  death  of  Gotz.  If  it  did  not  occur  to  him  in  the 
second  act  to  cool  his  wrath  on  the  Nuremberg  merchants 
returning  home  from  the  Frankfort  fair,  and  if  it  did  not 
come  into  the  minds  of  the  peasants  in  the  fifth  act  to  press 
him  into  service  as  their  leader,  the  drama  would  come  to 
an  tintimely  death  in  the  middle  of  the  second  or  at  the  end 
of  the  fourth  act.  And  yet  Goethe  could  easily  have  pro- 
duced a  more  coherent  plot  if,  in  the  second  act,  he  had 
made  Weislingen 's  treachery  the  chief  motive.  Gotz  could 
have  declared,  indeed  would  have  been  compelled  to  declare, 
a  new  feud  against  the  Bishop  of  Bamberg  in  order  to  punish 
the  traitor  and  his  protector.  But  here  we  can  see  how 
little  Goethe  thought  of  a  drama  as  a  stage  piece  and  how 
much  he  was  bent  on  merely  depicting  in  dialogue  the  life 


(/ 


[ 


172  ^be  %ltc  of  (Boetbe 

of  his  hero  in  its  most  characteristic  moments.  In  the 
biography  the  feud  with  Bamberg  is  followed  by  that  with 
Nuremberg,  and  this  by  the  execution  of  the  imperial  ban 
and  the  imprisonment  in  Heilbronn;  and  in  this  order 
Goethe  dramatised  the  material. 

But  if  political  and  artistic  tendencies  kept  the  poet  too 
close  to  history,  his  dramatic  instinct  held  the  more  complete 
sway  in  the  creation  and  elaboration  of  the  Weislingen- 
drama,  which  in  the  first  version  threatened  to  submerge 
the  history  of  Gotz.  The  Weislingen-drama,  however, 
does  not  owe  its  existence  merely  to  the  effort  to  breathe 
dramatic  life  into  the  dialogued  biography.  In  the  history 
of  Gotz  Goethe  had  paid  tribute  to  the  esthetic,  political, 
and  social  ideals  of  youth.  Here  was  portrayed  "  a  fellow," 
who,  heeding  only  the  voice  of  his  genius,  declared  war 
upon  the  absurd  laws  of  men  and  their  still  more  absurd 
doings,  who  fought  for  the  good  and  the  true,  freedom  and 
nature,  even  if  he  himself  had  to  fall  beneath  the  iron  tread 
of  history.  But  something  further  within  the  poet  was 
struggling  for  poetic  realisation.  As  life  without  the  in- 
gredient of  love,  or  without  lovable  women,  seemed  to 
him  dull  and  empty,  so  also  literature.  Hence  the  manly 
story  of  Gotz  had  to  be  interwoven  with  the  Weislingen- 
drama,  which  may  be  called  a  hymn  to  the  power  of  woman's 
charms.  Every  man  who  comes  within  the  sphere  of 
Adelheid's  radiant  beauty  and  seductive  charms  ^^  suc- 
cumbs: Weislingen,  the  veteran  love-maker;  Franz,  the 
boy;  Liebetraut,  the  fool;  Karl,  the  crown  prince;  nay,  in 
the  first  version,  even  honest  Sickingen,  as  well  as  the 
gypsy  boy,  and  the  bailiff  of  the  vehmic  court.  The  un- 
canny charms  of  the  beautiful  woman  drive  men  and  boys, 
whose  hearts  are  not  naturally  depraved,  to  treachery  and 
murder,  as  if  they  had  no  wills  of  their  own. 

Another  purely  invented  female  character  of  the  Weis- 
lingen-drama is  Marie,  sister  of  Gotz,  a  most  noble  contrast 
to  Adclheid.  The  latter  a  widow,  domineering,  coquettish, 
with  an  inordinate  longing  for  love  and  power ;  the  former 
a  maiden,  pure,  unselfish,  angelic,  who  extends  her  hand  to 


(3ot3  von  BcrlicblnQcn  173 

a  man  who  has  deserted  her,  in  order  to  lighten  the  burden 
of  his  giiilty  soul.  "May  God  forget  all  you  have  done,  as 
I  forget  all."  We  know  who  was  the  poet's  model  for  j/^^ 
Marie.  And  that  brings  us  to  the  motive  which  perhaps 
gave  the  decisive  impulse  to  write  the  Weislingen-drama. 
"She  wrote  me  a  letter  that  lacerated  my  heart,"  says  the 
poet  of  Friederike.  This  must  have  been  in  the  autumn  of 
177 1,  just  at  the  time  when  he  first  took  up  Gotz.  His  soul 
was  burning  with  the  consciousness  of  a  great  wrong.  The 
attempt  to  atone  for  it  was  partly  responsible  for  the  ex- 
istence of  the  Weislingen-drama,  and  thus  of  the  whole 
drama.  For  the  elements  of  Gotz  had  been  in  embr>^o  in  his 
mind  for  a  considerable  time,  but  the  first  possibility  of 
forming  them  into  a  living  whole  came  when  they  were 
brought  into  connection  with  the  figure  of  Weislingen. 
"Poor  Friederike  will  feel  to  some  extent  consoled  when 
the  faithless  man  is  poisoned."  Thus  wrote  Goethe  to 
Salzmann,  when  he  sent  him  a  copy  of  Gotz  for  Friederike. 

It  was  not  in  Goethe,  who  was  the  child  of  his  age  and . 
had  a  clear  eye  for  the  past,  to  fail  to  incorporate  the  \ 
motive  of  the  Reformation  in  his  piece,  although  Gotz  him-  I     * 
self  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  Reformation.     Brother  I 
Martin  ^  is  the  representative  of  this  motive.     For  the 
development  of  the  plot  he  is  wholly  unnecessary,  and  for 
that  very  reason  his  presence  is  significant.     Furthermore, 
it   is   extraordinarily   characteristic   of   the   poet,   that   he 
brought  neither  the  religious  nor  the  ecclesiastical  side  of 
the  Reformation  into  the  foreground:   not  the  war  against 
the  papacy,  nor  the  restoration  of  the  Bible,  nor  the  uni- 
versal priesthood,  but  the  humanistic  side:    the  free,  full 
humanity.     "  Nothing  seems  to  me  more  burdensome  than       ^) 
not  to  be  permitted  to  be  a  man,"  says  Brother  Martin,  at 
the  beginning  of  his  complaint  against  the  monastic  vows. 
That  was  also  the  most  essential  point  in  common  between 
the  Storm-and-Stress  period  and  the  sixteenth  century. 

If  we  consider  these  motives,  drawn  from  the  inner  and 
the  outer  world,  which  swelled  Goethe's  heart  till  it  almost 
burst,  we  can  understand  how  working  on  the  play  became 


174  ^be  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

a  passion  with  him  and  made  him  "forget  stin,  moon,  and 
the  dear  stars." 

Nevertheless  it  was  not  the  material  alone  which  made 
this  composition  a  labour  of  love  with  him.  The  play  was 
at  the  same  time  to  mark  the  beginning  of  a  new  era,  em- 
bodying, as  it  did,  the  f orm^  of  the  new  theories  of  art. 
Since  these  taught  that  it  was  the  task  of  the  serious  drama 
to  bring  before  our  eyes  a  great  man  through  all  the  trials 
of  fortune  in  his  hfe,  and  since  the  observance  of  the  tra- 
ditional rules  of  the  unity  of  time,  place,  and  action  was  an 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  this  task,  they  were  ruthlessly  thrust 
aside.  This  brought  the  poet  at  the  same  time  nearer  to 
truth  and  nature,  the  great  fundamental  thoughts  of  the 
Storm-and-Stress  movement.  We  can  see  the  true  delight 
which  he  took  in  dealing  the  old  technique  of  the  theatre  a 
powerful  blow.  He  hurries  us  through  a  space  of  many 
years,  whirls  us  back  and  forth  between  Bamberg,  Augs- 
burg, Heilbronn,  the  Spessart  [Mountains],  and  Jaxthausen, 
and  gives  us,  instead  of  a  single,  comprehensive  action,  a 
multitude  of  dramatised  events.  What  did  he  care,  whether 
or  not  such  a  piece  could  be  performed !  If  not,  so  much  the 
worse  for  the  theatre.  As  in  the  plot,  he  paid  no  attention 
to  the  traditional  laws  of  dramatic  art,  or  to  the  require- 
ments of  the  stage,  having  regard  only  to  the  simple  truth 
(the  historical  progress  of  events),  so  also  in  the  language. 
The  dramatis  personce  should  speak  their  true  and  genmne 
dialect,  not  an  artificial  literary  German.  Hence  Goethe 
with  imheard-of  boldness  cast  the  sacred  literary  language 
overboard,  and  in  syntax,  vocabulary,  and  inflections 
sought  to  reproduce  the  natural  language  of  the  characters. 
If  any  one  cares  to  measure  the  advance  over  former  plays, 
let  him  compare  the  opening  of  Minna  von  Barnhelm  with 
that  of  Gotz.  In  both  cases  the  scene  is  an  inn,  and  Les- 
sing  evidently  tries  to  strike  a  realistic  tone.  And  yet  how 
entirely  different  is  the  language  of  Just  and  the  landlord 
from  that  of  the  mounted  soldiers,  the  peasants,  and  the 
landlord  in  Gotz!  The  former  the  correct  universal  literary 
German,  the  latter  a  free,  homely,  dialectic,  archaic,  collo- 


(Bot3  von  Bcrlicbingen  175 

quial  German.     And  we  must  not  forget  that  the  former  is 
in  a  comedy  and  the  latter  in  a  great  historical  tragedy. 

Thus  the  whole  of  Gotz,  its  hero,  its  ideas,  its  technique  J 
and  its  language,  was   a  declaration   of  war   against  the 
old  and  the  traditional,  against  limitations  and  inferiority. 
Fully   conscious   of   this   revolutionary   character,    Goethe 
wrote  to  Merck  *^  a  note  accompanying  a  copy  of  the  play : 

Allien  ^crucfeiir^  unb  f^ra^cn 
Unb  aQcn  literarif(i)cn  ^n^cn 

SBeifen  tuir  fo  bicfen  ^fjiliftcrn, 
tritifafteni  unb  i[)rcn  ®efd)it)iftcrn 
SSo^l  ein  jebcr  aii6  feincm  §au8 — * 

ending  with  a  line  closely  resembling  Gotz's  vulgar  challenge 
to  the  imperial  herald. 

But  Goethe's  defiance  to  the  enemy  was  unnecessary. 
The  poetic  beauties  of  his  drama  were  so  extraordinary  that 
hardly  any  marked  objections  were  heard.  The  greatest 
furore,  as  was  to  be  expected,  came  from  the  applause  of 
the  younger  men,  to  whom  the  anonymous  play  was  not 
merely  a  splendid  composition  but  a  stroke  for  liberty  as 
well.  Burger  under  the  first  impression  wrote  to  Boie: 
"Boie!  Boie!  The  Knight  with  the  Iron  Hand,  what  a 
play!  I  can  scarcely  contain  myself  for  enthusiasm.  How 
shall  I  thank  the  author  for  my  delight?  Why,  he  deserves 
the  name  of  the  German  Shakespeare.  .  .  .  What  a 
thoroughly  German  subject!  What  daring  treatment! 
Noble  and  free  as  his  hero,  the  author  tramples  the  miser- 
able code  of  rules  under  his  feet  and  conjures  up  before  our 
eyes  an  entire  epoch  with  life  and  breath  in  its  minutest 
veins.  .  .  .  May  fortune  smile  upon  the  noble,  free 
man,  who  was  more  obedient  to  nature  than  to  tyrannical 

*  To  every  peruke  and  caricature, 
And  mousing  critic  of  literature, 


To  these  Philistines  thus  we  can. 
Criticasters  and  all  their  clan, 
Each  of  us  from  his  window  show — - 


176  ^be  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

art.  .  .  .  O  Boie,  do  you  not  know  who  he  is?  Tell  me, 
tell  me,  that  my  reverence  may  erect  an  altar  to  him." 

As  Burger  of  the  North,  so  also  Schubart  of  the  South 
was  enthusiastic  over  the  piece.  Herder,  notwithstanding 
his  harsh  and  unfriendly  letter  to  Goethe,  was  full  of  ad- 
miration even  for  the  first  draught.  "When  you  read  it," 
he  wrote  to  his  fiancee  in  July,  1772,  "you  too  will  experience 
a  few  hours  of  heavenly  joy.  There  is  an  uncommon 
amount  of  German  power,  depth,  and  truth  in  it,"  and  in 
his  pamphlet,  Von  Deutscher  Art  und  Kunst,  he  pointed  in 
suggestive  and  eloquent  terms  to  Goethe  as  the  German 
Shakespeare.  But  even  those  who  were  offended  by  the 
irregularities  in  the  play,  were  nevertheless  fully  appreciat- 
ive of  its  merits.  "Let  form  be  form,"  was  the  criticism 
in  the  Frankfurter  Gelehrten  Anzeigen;  "even  if  the  author 
had  written  in  Chinese  form,  we  should  have  to  prize  his 
genius.  Rather  twenty  times  as  many  oddities  as  occur 
in  this  play  than  the  insipid  twaddle  which  one  has  to 
swallow  in  the  German  plays  of  to-day.  .  .  ."  Christian 
Heinrich  Schmid,  small  mind  as  he  was,  remarked  in  the 
Deutsche  Merkur:  "A  play,  in  which  all  three  unities  are 
most  cruelly  mistreated,  which  is  neither  comedy  nor 
tragedy,  and  yet  the  most  beautiful,  most  interesting  mon- 
strosity, for  which  we  would  gladly  exchange  a  himdred  of 
our  lachrymose  comedies.  .  .  .  We  had  read  the  play 
several  times  and  thought  we  could  reason  calmly  about 
our  delight,  but,  before  we  were  aware,  we  were  again  in  the 
midst  of  an  intoxication  of  feeling,  and  all  rules,  even  the 
determination  to  criticise,  vanished  like  shadows  before 
this  vigorous  language  of  the  heart."  Wieland,  too,  not  in 
the  least  blind  to  the  weaknesses  of  the  play,  and  in  spite  of 
his  anger  over  an  attack  by  Goethe,  praised  it  and,  as 
editor  of  the  Merkur,  defended  it  against  some  unfounded 
fault-finding  of  his  collaborator,  Schmid. 

The  public  found  its  greatest  pleasure,  Goethe  tells  us 
in  Wilhelm  Meister,  in  the  subject7matter:  in  the  armoured 
knights,  the  old  castles,  the  sincerity,  integrity,  and  hon- 
esty, but  especially  in  the  independence  of  the  characters: 


(Bot3  von  3BcrUcblnocn  177 

"  Everybody  was  kindled  with  the  fire  of  most  noble  patriot- 
ism. How  much  it  pleased  German  society  and  appealed 
to  their  native  instinct  to  find  poetic  enjoyment  in  their 
own  home  country!  Especially  the  vaulted  rooms  and 
cellars,  the  ruined  castles,  the  moss  and  hollow  trees,  above 
all,  however,  the  nocturnal  gypsy  scenes  and  the  vehmic 
court  were  incredibly  effective."  In  spite  of  all  difficulties 
Gotz  was  performed  ^^  in  Berlin  as  early  as  April,  1774,  and 
miserable  as  was  the  mise  en  sc^ne,  the  play  received  stormy 
applause. 

The  two  greatest  contemporaries  of  the  poet,  Lessing 
and  Frederick  II.,  were  indifferent,  even  hostile  to  the  new 
play.  We  must  not  be  surprised  at  this  attitude  of  the 
Prussian  king.  He  was  so  lost  in  French  taste  that  he 
could  not  but  judge  of  Gotz  as  Voltaire  had  once  of  Hamlet: 
"Voilk  un  Gotz  de  Berlichingen  qui  parait  sur  la  scene. 
Imitation  detestable  de  ces  mauvaises  pieces  anglaises  et  le 
Parterre  applaudit  et  demande  avec  enthousiasme  la  re- 
petition de  ces  degoutantes  platitudes." 

But  Lessing?  He  had  overthrown  French  influence  in 
Germany  and  had  been  the  herald  of  Shakespeare,  and  now 
that  a  German  Shakespeare  seemed  to  arise — so  cold  ?  Had 
he  no  eye  for  that  which  all  the  world  saw,  no  feeling  for 
that  which  warmed  the  hearts  of  all?  Beyond  all  doubt,  he 
had.  Otherwise  he  could  not  have  been  Lessing.  But  in 
him,  the  reformer  of  German  dramatic  art,  all  joy  was  of 
necessity  stifled  by  the  bitter  fear  that  what  he  had  labori- 
ously rescued  from  ruin  and  ossification  might  in  turn  be 
destroyed  by  the  unrestrained  licence  of  the  Storm-and- 
Stress  movement.  The  more  dazzling  the  example,  the 
more  dangerous  it  was.  And  hence  he  directed  the  full 
power  of  his  wrath  against  the  "beautiful  monstrosity," 
and  had  no  slight  inclination  to  attack  Goethe,  in  spite  of 
his  boasted  genius.  And  he  would  have  hit  the  weak  spots 
with  sharp  arrows.  A  single  aphorism,  satirical  as  an  epi- 
gram, will  afford  us  an  indication  of  what  he  might  have 
written:  "He  fills  intestines  with  sand  and  sells  them  for 
ropes.     Who?     The   poet,    perchance,  who   puts    the   life 

VOL.   I. — IZ 


\^ 


178  ^be  %xtc  of  (Boetbe 

history  of  a  man  into  a  dialogue  and  hawks  the  thing  for  a 
drama? "  But  that  Lessing,  despite  all  this,  remained  silent 
proves  that  he  was  unconsciously  under  the  spell  of  the 
genius  of  his  young  rival. 

After  calm  consideration  he  may  have  had  the  same 
hopes  of  the  highly  gifted  poet  as  Wieland  prophetically 
expressed  in  the  Merkur,  that  perhaps  there  would  come  a 
time  when  after  deeper  study  into  the  nature  of  the  human 
soul  he  would  be  brought  to  the  conviction  that  Aristotle 
was  right  after  all, — that  his  rules  were  based  on  laws  of 
nature  more  than  on  caprice,  convenience,  and  example. 

If  we  to-day,  far  away  from  the  din  of  party  strife,  ap- 
proach the  play,  neither  dazzled  by  its  tendencies  nor 
terrified  by  the  unrestrained  licence  of  its  technique,  we 
cannot  but  join  in  the  applause  of  the  great  majority, 
whether  we  try  it  by  the  historical  or  by  the  absolute 
standard — standards  which,  however,  are  inapplicable  to 
Gotz  as  to  the  most  of  Goethe's  works. 

What  German  drama — even  the  masterpieces  of  Lessing 
not  excepted — could  at  that  time  compare  with  Gotz  in 
richness,  brilHancy,  and  warmth?  To  be  sure,  Minna  von 
Barnhehn  and  Emilia  Galotti  are,  from  the  point  of  view  of 
formal  art,  incomparably  greater  masterpieces ;  but  by  the 
side  of  Gotz  they  are  but  vigorous  and  clever  drawings  com- 
pared with  a  mural  painting  revelling  in  rich  colour  and 
brimming  over  with  the  sap  of  life. 

What  a  varied  crowd  of  people  the  poet  gathers  about 
us!  The  imperial  knights,  the  bishops,  the  lansquenets, 
the  city  aldermen,  the  merchants,  the  emperor,  monks, 
jurists,  peasants,  gypsies,  members  of  the  vehmic  court, 
men,  women,  boys,  children.  And  how  they  stand  out 
before  us!  Who  ever  drew  such  men,  knights,  bishops, 
women,  and  boys  before?  The  iron-handed  Gotz,  the  man 
of  fidelity,  bravery,  kindness,  and  love  of  liberty,  the  hero 
with  the  soul  of  a  child ;  and  his  opposite,  weak  Weislingen, 
to  whom  liberty  is  nothing  and  enjoyment  everything,  and 
who  allows  himself  to  be  hauled  about  through  life  by  the 
favour  of  princes   and   women.     And   again   their   young 


6bt3  von  Bcrllcbingcn  179 

doubles:  Georg,  the  fine,  healthy  servant  of  Gotz,  the 
golden  boy,  who  cannot  await  the  day  when  he  shall  ride 
forth  in  coat  of  mail  upon  his  own  horse ;  and  Franz,  Weis- 
lingen's  page,  unstable,  indulging  in  sensual  intoxications, 
who  cannot  await  the  day  when  his  beautiful  lady-love 
shall  listen  to  his  love's  desire;  and,  further,  Olearius, 
doctor  of  canonical  and  civil  law,  vainglorious  in  spite  of  the 
limits  of  his  knowledge,  servile  flatterer  of  the  great;  the 
Bishop  of  Bamberg,  surroimded  by  women  and  court  fools, 
devoted  wholly  to  the  common  selfishness  of  princes  and 
the  common  intrigues  of  tyrants ;  the  drunken,  stammering, 
staring  Abbot  of  Fulda  ;  and,  contrasted  with  these,  wise, 
noble  Brother  Martin,  who  hates  the  idleness  of  monks  and 
is  happy  that  he  has  seen  a  man  hke  Gotz;  the  honest, 
prosy  emperor,  who  in  the  midst  of  the  turmoil  of  aftairs 
feels  very  clearly  where  his  true  friends  stand.  And  beside 
this  gallery  of  men  the  portraits  of  w^omen :  the  firm,  com- 
posed, efficient  housewife  Elizabeth;  good,  gentle,  tender, 
Marie,  and  the  iridescent  serpent,  the  bewitching  she-devil 
Adelheid.  Wieland  said  of  them,  that  the  greatest  master 
of  character-painting,  Shakespeare  himself,  was  nowhere 
greater  than  our  poet  in  his  portraits  of  Marie,  Elizabeth, 
and  Adelheid. 

The  poet  animates  events  with  no  less  art  than  he  does 
people.  Even  such  complex  situations  as  the  siege  of 
Jaxthausen  and  the  fight  with  the  imperial  troops  he 
brings  before  our  eyes  with  the  greatest  clearness.  And 
with  what  simple  means  he  accomplishes  it! — a  series  of 
fleeting  scenes,  a  few  casual  words,  an  exclamation,  a 
hasty  conversation  to  transport  us  into  the  midst  of  the 
action. 

The  same  compact,  effective  art  is  seen  in  the  portrayal 
of  momentous  soul  struggles.  Two  examples  may  illus- 
trate this.  Weislingen  takes  leave  of  Adelheid  in  order  not 
to  break  his  word  to  Gotz  and  Marie.  Adelheid 's  arts  of 
persuasion  and  seduction  have  been  fruitless.  She  looks 
at  him  angrily. 

"  Weislingen:  Do  not  look  at  me  so. 


i8o  ^be  Xlfc  of  (Boetbe 

"  Adelheid:  Will  you  be  our  enemy  and  yet  expect  us  to 
smile  on  you?     Go! 

' '  Weislingen :  Adelheid ! 

''Adelheid:   I  hate  you. 

"Franz:  My  gracious  lord,  the  bishop  wishes  to  speak 
with  you. 

"Adelheid:  Go!     Go! 

"Franz:  He  begs  you  to  hasten. 

"Adelheid:  Go!     Go! 

"Weislingen:  I  will  not  say  good-bye,  I  shall  see  you 
again." 

Another  example.  Weislingen  has  been  poisoned  by 
Franz.  Franz  comes  to  him  and  sees  him  in  his  misery. 
He  utters  not  a  word,  but,  crushed  by  a  sense  of  guilt,  falls 
at  the  feet  of  his  lord. 

"Weislingen:  Franz,  arise  and  cease  weeping.  I  may 
get  up  again.     While  there  is  Ufe  there  is  hope. 

"  Franz:  You  never  will.     You  must  die. 

"  Weislingen:   I  must? 

"Franz:    Poison!     Poison!     From  your  wife,      I!    I!" 

He  runs  away  and  throws  himself  into  the  Main.  When 
have  the  deepest  soul  struggles  been  portrayed  more 
laconically;  when  more  effectively? 

And  what  a  gamut  of  feelings  the  poet  carries  us  through! 
Verily,  the  critic  in  the  Frankfurter  Gelehrten  Anzeigen  was 
right  when  he  wrote:  "From  the  moment  of  the  siege  of 
Gotz's  castle  your  heart  will  warm  to  him ;  you  will  tremble 
for  him  in  the  tower,  among  the  peasants  and  the  g}'psy 
rabble,  you  will  shed  tears  over  the  sun  that  refreshes  him 
in  his  dying  hour,  and  you  will  re-echo  his  cry  of  '  Freedom ! 
freedom!'  "  But  he  ought  not  to  have  failed  to  say  that 
our  heart  is  warm  from  the  moment  when  Gotz  appears  and 
Georg  begs  to  be  taken  along  to  the  fight.  For  it  was 
another  tremendous  superiority  of  the  play,  that  it  was 
flooded  with  a  stream  of  warm  blood,  such  as  only  the 
glowing  heart  of  our  poet  could  pour  into  it. 

If  we  add  to  all  this  the  great  historical  background 
which  Goethe  has  drawn  with  such  wonderful  distinctness 


(5ot3  von  iBcrlicblngen  iSi 

and  fidelity,  we  willingly  agree  with  those  of  his  contempor- 
ary critics  who  said,  "  The  drama  as  a  play  for  the  stage  is 
a  failure,  but  it  is  a  poem  of  immortal  beauty." 

Hence  we  can  only  regret  that  Goethe,  thirty  years  after, 
made  the  attempt  to  correct  the  mistakes  in  composition  in 
order  to  fit  it  for  the  stage.  In  doing  so  he  marred  the 
brilliant  youthful  beauty  of  the  work,  while  the  stage 
gained  only  a  piece,  adapted  to  its  ordinary  routine,  but  no 
less  lacking  in  internal  unity  than  the  dialogued  history 
had  been. 


XV 


WERTHER 

'773  ^  quiet  year — Goethe's  nearest  friends  scatter — Cultivation  of  his 
inner  life — Lotte-cult — Death  of  Jerusalem — The  Werther  mood — 
Thoughts  of  sviicide — Remedy  sought  in  literary  reproduction — 
Form  chosen — Subjective  elements  wanting  for  second  part  fur- 
nished by  intercourse  with  Maxe  La  Roche — Method  of  writing — 
Analysis  of  the  plot — The  catastrophe  the  natural  outgrowth  of 
Werther' s  character — Twofold  motive  of  suicide — Simplicity  of 
plot — Wealth  of  scenes  and  characters — Style — Success  of  the 
novel — Lessing's  adverse  criticism — Werther  craze — Goethe's 
world-fame. 

THE  year  1773  was  for  Goethe  a  very  quiet  one.  He 
was  more  than  ever  dependent  upon  himself.  In 
October  of  the  preceding  year  Cornelia,  the  most 
zealous  and  sympathetic  companion  of  his  life  and  am- 
bition, had  been  betrothed  to  his  friend,  Johann  Georg 
Schlosser,  and  this  had  turned  her  interest  in  another 
direction.  On  the  14th  of  November  of  this  year  she  left 
Frankfort  to  go  with  her  husband,  first  to  Karlsruhe, 
then  to  Emmendingen  in  Baden,  where  he  had  found  a 
position  as  district  judge.  The  dear  circle  of  Darmstadt 
saints  was  also  broken.  Good  Uranie  died  in  April.  Goethe's 
enthusiastic  bearing  caused  the  world  to  suspect  more  in- 
timate relations  between  him  and  Uranie  than  in  reality 
existed.  He  suffers  a  martyrdom  of  pain  that  he  is  for- 
bidden to  erect  a  monument  to  the  memory  of  his  dearly 
beloved  friend  because  he  does  not  care  to  confront  the 
nonsensical  gossip  of  tht  world.  Soon  after,  early  in  May, 
Herder  came  for  his  bride,  Karoline  Flachsland.  The  wed- 
ding was  celebrated  merrily.     Nevertheless,  for  some  not 

182 


IKflertber  183 

very  clear  reason,  Goethe  and  Herder  came  into  such 
strained  relations,  that  all  intercourse  between  them  ceased 
for  a  long  time.  A  few  days  after  Herder's  wedding,  Merck, 
as  a  member  of  the  suite  of  Landgravine  Karoline,  started 
on  a  journey  to  St.  Petersburg,  which  kept  him  away  from 
home  for  the  remainder  of  the  year,  while  his  wife  went  to 
her  relatives  in  Switzerland.  And,  finally,  about  the  same 
time  Kestner  and  Lotte  were  still  farther  removed  from  our 
poet  upon  taking  up  their  residence  in  Hanover.  Such  of 
Goethe's  friends  as  were  left  in  Frankfort,  the  elder  Schlos- 
ser,  Horn,  Riese,  Krespel  and  his  sister,  the  three  Gerocks, 
the  two  Munches,  and  others,  meant  no  more  to  him  than  a 
slight  enhancement  of  his  social  pleasures.  Of  most  value 
to  him  still  was  his  motherly  friend,  Fraulein  von  Kletten- 
berg,  who,  in  spite  of  his  backsliding — not,  to  be  sure, 
into  infidelity,  but  into  a  lack  of  positive  Christian  belief — 
still  loved  him  cordially,  because  from  his  profound  toler- 
ance and  his  sympathetic  appreciation  of  the  true  orthodox 
position  she  was  led  to  hope  that  he  would  yet  find  God  in 
Christ.  Helpful  as  an  exchange  of  opinions  with  this 
charitable  and  clever  friend  may  at  times  have  been, 
her  heaven-centred  soul  was  an  inadequate  sounding- 
board  for  his  thousand  passionate  emotions,  longings,  and 
activities. 

But  the  more  keenly  Goethe  felt  that  the  circle  of  his 
dearest  friends  was  growing  narrow  and  unresponsive,  the 
more  he  built  up  his  own  inner  hfe.  As  he  covered  the 
walls  of  his  room  with  Raphael's  heads  and  filled  it  with 
Greek  busts  so  he  peopled  his  imagination  with  a  gallery  of 
demigods,  heroes,  and  angels,  from  Prometheus,  Caesar, 
Mahomet,  and  Faust,  to  Lotte,  and  in  silent  intercourse 
with  their  spirits  was  able  to  satisfy  the  manifold  needs  of 
his  heart. 

The  angel  Lotte  justly  tritmiphed  over  the  demigods 
and  heroes.  For  the  fascination  which  she  had  exerted 
over  him  had  not  ceased  with  his  departure  from  Wetzlar, 
— in  fact,  it  had  not  even  moderated.  The  refreshing  pic- 
ttire  of  her  maidenly  charms  remained  ever  before  his  eyes. 


1 84  Zl)c  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

He  was  drawn  toward  her  by  an  almost  uncontrollable  long- 
ing. "  When  I  come  to  the  Friedberg  Gate,  it  seems  to  me  as 
if  I  should  have  to  come  to  you,"  he  exclaims  six  weeks 
after  his  departure  from  Wetzlar.  And  when,  in  November, 
his  brother-in-law  goes  to  Wetzlar  on  business,  he  wan- 
ders back  the  perilous  path  and  remains  there  three  days. 
On  the  last  evening  he  still  had  detestable  thoughts  of  su- 
icide. "It  was  time  that  I  went,"  he  said  in  a  letter  to 
Kestner.  In  Frankfort  he  seeks  to  compensate  himself  for 
the  loss  of  the  real  Lotte  by  her  silhouette,  which  he  has 
fastened  to  the  wall  of  his  room.  "  I  just  said  good-night 
to  Lotte 's  silhouette"  (September  25,  1772).  "Before  I 
went  to  dinner  to-day  I  greeted  her  picture  cordially"  (Oc- 
tober 8th).  "  Yesterday  evening,  dear  Kestner,  I  conversed 
with  Lotte  and  you  for  an  hour  in  the  twilight. 
I  was  feeling  my  way  to  the  door  .  .  .  my  hand 
touched  paper  ...  it  was  Lotte's  silhouette.  .  .  . 
I  assure  you,  it  was  a  pleasant  sensation,  I  gave  her  a  most 
hearty  greeting  and  went  on"  (December  15th).  "Before 
going  to  bed  I  feel  hke  bidding  you  good-night,  and  sweet 
Lotte,  too,  to  whom  I  have  already  said  good-morning  and 
good-evening  a  great  many  times  to-day"  (January  11, 
1773).  After  Palm  Sunday,  April  14,  1773,  the  day ^  of 
Lotte's  wedding,  he  intends  to  bury  her  silhouette.  But 
it  still  hangs  there  on  the  wall  and  "shall  hang  there  till  I 
die."  On  the  loth  of  April  he  writes :  "  I  cannot  yet  under- 
stand how  it  was  possible  for  me  to  go  away  from  Lotte. 'V 
He  asks  her  to  send  him  her  bridal  bouquet,  and  wears  it  on 
a  walk  to  Darmstadt.  And  so  it  goes  on;  and  it  makes 
but  little  difference  that  Lotte  is  the  wife  of  another  and 
blessed  with  a  child.  "  For  I  still  see  her  as  I  left  her." 
As  late  as  August,  1774,  we  hear  an  outburst  of  passionate 
adoration,  called  forth  by  the  visit  of  Lotte's  childhood 
nurse.  "You  can  imagine  how  much  the  woman  was  to 
me  and  that  I  shall  care  for  her.  If  bones  of  saints  and 
lifeless  rags  which  have  touched  their  bodies  deserve 
adoration  and  careful  preservation,  why  not  the  human 
creature  who  touched  you,  carried  you  as  a  child  in  her 


'Mcrtber  185 

arms,  led  you  by  the  hand,  the  creature  of  whom  you  per- 
chance asked  many  a  favour?"  Not  until  the  publication 
of  the  poetic  reflection  of  his  relation  to  Lotte  does  the 
fantastic  cult  lose  its  charm  for  him. 

Tha.t_Werther  is  this  poetic  reflection  is  well  known. 
The  novel  had  grown  slowly  through  a  gradual  process  of 
enlargement  and  transformation.  Immediately  after  his 
departure  from  Wetzlar  Goethe  may  have  felt  the  strong- 
est impulse  to  give  his  experiences  artistic  reproduction  in 
literary  form.  But  to  bring  the  beautiful  summer  dream 
to  as  innocent  and  heroic  an  end  as  was  the  reality,  could 
not  satisfy  either  the  poet  or  the  man.  His  emotional  life 
was  too  violently  agitated  to  be  contained  in  the  delicate 
frame  of  an  idyll.  Then  at  the  beginning  of  November  he 
learns  of  the  death  of  Legation  Secretary  Jerusalem,  whose 
deep  but  bitter  nature  had  been  driven  to  suicide,  partly 
by  his  hopeless  love  of  another's  wife,  and  partly  by  the 
slights  of  society.  At  this  moment  the  poet  sees  his  new 
work  in  outline.  Great  motives  quickly  crystallise  about 
the  Wetzlar  nucleus.  The  chief  motive  becomes  similar 
to  that  in  Gotz:  the  conflict  between  the  requirements  of 
the  individual  and  the  demands  of  the  world,  between  A^' 
desire  and  reality.  v-*-^—- 

Goethe  was  always  in  the  midst  of  this  struggle.  His 
indomitable  spirit  of  liberty  saw  itself  everywhere  fenced 
in  by  institutions  of  state,  church,  and  society,  or  curbed 
by  the  will  of  others.  The  quiet,  dulness,  and  insignificance 
of  public  life  were  painfully  out  of  proportion  to  the  energy, 
haste,,  and  greatness  which  he  longed  for.  There  seemed 
to.be  no  other  prospect  opening  up  for  all  the  powers  of 
which  he  was  conscious  except  uselessly  to  drag  out  his 
life  in  this  spiritless  humdrum.  A  petty  office  in  the  service 
of  his  native  city  seemed  to  be  the  lazy  pillow  upon  which 
the  Titan  was  to  fall  asleep.  Living  death!  And  even  in 
the  fields  where  he  was  granted  full  freedom  of  invention 
his  talents  were  not  in  harmony  with  his  ambitions. 

He  had  a  great  fondness  for  the  fine  arts,  but  his  per- 
formances were  those  of  a  beginner,  and  who  could  assure 


1 86  Zhe  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

him  that  diligence  and  growing  insight  would  ever  make 
anything  more  of  him? 

The  applause  with  which  the  great  pubUc  had  greeted 
Gotz  might  well  have  given  him  more  assurance  of  the 
value  of  his  literary  achievements.  But  while  the  roar  of 
this  applause  was  still  in  his  ears  he  began  to  see  dangerous 
tendencies  in  the  play  which  he  must  avoid.  And  what 
was  the  applauding  public  to  him?  "A  herd  of  swine,"  as 
he  expressed  himself  in  the  vigorous  language  of  the  Storm- 
and-Stress  period.  The  public  had  hardly  the  faintest 
conception  of  the  best  things  that  he  had  offered.  Even 
the  most  capable  of  his  immediate  associates  were  so  far 
away  from  him  in  sympathy  that  he  occasionally  felt  him- 
self in  that  appalling  solitude  of  which  the  greatest  spirits 
have  ever  at  times,  or,  in  some  cases,  permanently  been 
conscious.  When,  in  1773,  this  lonesomeness  became  more 
intense,  shrill  cries  of  pain  disclosed  his  agony.  "My  poor 
life  is  turning  into  a  cold,  barren  rock."  "  I  am  wandering 
in  deserts  where  there  is  no  water;  my  hair  is  the  only 
shade  and  my  blood  the  only  fountain." 

And  was  it  not  to  be  expected  that  despair  should  at 
times  lay  hold  of  him?  Those  he  loved  he  could  neither 
possess  nor  enjoy  without  restraint  or  guilt.  In  fact,  he 
trespassed  if  he  even  showed  his  love;  his  very  existence 
brought  unhappiness  and,  all  unknown  to  him,  cast  a 
blight  on  tender  souls. 

And  what  were  the  conditions  in  his  home  and  in  the 
wider  circle  of  his  friends?  An  excellent  father,  but 
painfully  out  of  harmony  with  wife  and  children;  a 
sister,  betrothed  to  a  noble  man  of  fine  education,  yet 
with  imcertain  prospects  of  true  happiness.  In  other 
families,  moreover,  he  had  from  early  youth  seen  misfor- 
tune, crime,  discord,  hatefulness  of  every  description;  and 
in  political  circles  narrowness,  selfishness,  briber}'',  and 
cowardice. 

To  crown  all  this  he  had  a  rankling  realisation  of  the 
fragmentary  nature  of  his  own  knowledge.  He,  with  the 
profound  mind  that  wished  to  penetrate  to  the  heart  of 


Mertber  187 

things,  was  ever  being  reminded  anew  of  the  narrow  Hmita- 
tions  of  human  understanding. 

Conceive  now  these  oppressive,  agitating,  torturing 
thoughts  and  feehngs,  experiences  and  observations  at 
work  upon  a  most  dehcately  organised  soul,  a  prey  to 
violent  passions,  and  sympathising  with  all  mankind.  No 
wonder  that  life  seemed  a  burden  and  the  world  a  prison! 
Hence  it  is  we  find  this  highly  favoured  man  in  the  best  V  V* 
years  of  his  youth  entertaining  thoughts  of  suicide.*  "I, 
too,  honour  such  a  deed,"  he  writes  October  lo,  1772,  on 
receipt  of  the  false  news  of  von  Goue's  suicide.  In  Wetzlar, 
on  the  9  th  of  November,  he  had  "very  suicidal  thoughts." 
"  A  noble  heart,  a  keen  mind,"  he  says  to  Sophie  La  Roche, 
at  the  end  of  November,  with  reference  to  Jerusalem's 
death,  "how  easily  they  pass  from  extraordinary  feelings 
to  such  determinations,  and  life — what  need  have  I  to 
speak  to  you  of  that!"  "  I  do  this  because  it  will  seem  for 
the  next  few  days  as  if  you  had  in  me  a  lazy  teacher.  For 
I  am  in  a  state  of  perturbation,  in  which  they  say  it  is  not 
profitable  to  leave  the  world"  (to  Johanna  Fahlmer,  March, 
1773).  "If  one's  genius  did  not  convert  stones  and  trees 
into  children,  one  would  not  care  to  live"  (to  Roderer, 
autumn  of  1773).  "If  I  still  live,  I  owe  it  to  you,"  he 
writes,  November  21,  1774,  to  Kestner,  with  reference  to 
events  in  Wetzlar.  In  Goue's  drama,  Masuren,  in  which 
the  members  of  the  Wetzlar  Round  Table  are  copied,  is 
found  this  conversation: 

"  Fayel  [Gotter]:    I  see  that  suicide  could  also  find  a 
place  in  your  system. 

"  Gots  [Goethe]:   And  what  have  you  to  offer  in  objec- 
tion to  it,  pray?     Your  commonplaces? 

"  Fayel:  Gotz,  you  are  joking ;  you  will  not  kill  yourself. 

"Gotz:    Only  in  case   I  were  cold-blooded  enough  to 
thrust  a  dagger  into  my  heart." 

This  agrees  with  Goethe's  statement  in  his  autobiography 
that  in  his  Werther  period  he  kept  a  well-sharpened  dagger 

*  The  glorification  of  death  in  Prometheus,  written  in   1773,  is  also 
indicative  of  this  frame  of  mind. 


1 88  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

lying  beside  his  bed  and  tried  repeatedly  to  sink  the  sharp 
point  of  it  a  few  inches  into  his  breast;  and  with  what  he 
writes  to  Zelter  in  1812  :  "I  know  right  well  what  determin- 
ation and  effort  it  cost  me  at  that  time  to  escape  from  the 
waves  of  death."  Of  course  all  these  waves  of  melancholy 
were  only  sporadic  and  lasted  but  a  few  moments.  They 
were  onl}-  dark  veins  running  through  the  white  marble  of 
his  soul,  not  rampant  weeds  which  fasten  their  roots  in  the 
smallest  crevices  and  gradually  overrun  the  marble  and 
crumble  it  to  pieces.  But  from  fear  that  these  momentary 
fits  of  despondency  might  become  more  permanent  and 
perilous  he  felt  the  greatest  need  of  curing  himself  of  them ; 
and,  as  always,  a  literary  creation  seemed  to  him  the  best 
remedy. 

Jerusalem's  death  furnished  him  the  desired  plot.  But 
he  was  still  undecided  as  to  the  form  of  the  work.  At  first 
he  favoured  the  drama,  but  as  this  seemed  impracticable 
he  hit  upon  the  epistolary  novel,  which  had  been  made  so 
popular  by  Richardson  and  Rousseau,  and  which  had  some 
dramatic  features.  The  work  proceeded  but  slowly,  for 
he  still  lacked  the  subjective  elements  for  the  second  part. 
But  soon  a  painful  experience  gave  him  these.  Immediately 
after  his  departure  from  Wetzlar  Goethe  had  become  a 
close  friend  of  the  La  Roche  family  in  Ehrenbreitstein,  He 
had  visited  them  for  several  days  and  become  very  fond  of 
Frau  von  La  Roche,  and  in  her  oldest  daughter,  Maxi- 
miliane,  an  uncommonly  beautiful  girl,  he  felt  a  growing 
interest.  In  1774  Maxe,  as  she  was  called  by  her  intimate 
friends,  was  married  to  a  rich  widower,  Peter  Anton  Bren- 
tano,  a  merchant  in  Frankfort,  already  the  father  of  five 
children.  And  now  the  beautiful  young  wife,  who  had 
sprung  from  one  of  the  most  cheerful  belletristic  circles  in 
one  of  the  most  lovely  spots  of  Germany,  sat  by  the  side 
of  an  ugly,  dry,  wooden  husband,  in  a  gloomy  mercantile 
house,  where  one  had  to  make  his  way  among  oil  barrels 
and  herring  casks.  Under  such  conditions  it  was  a  con- 
solation for  her  when  Goethe  came  and,  as  Merck  maliciously 
remarked,  compensated  her  for  the  odour  of  oil  and  cheese, 


Mcrtbcr  189 

entertained  her  step-children,  and  accompanied  her  piano 
with  his  cello.  But  Herr  Brentano  put  a  false  interpreta- 
tion on  the  friendship.  A  violent  conflict  ensued — perhaps 
more  between  Brentano  and  his  wife  than  between  him  and 
the  poet — "terrible  moments,"  which  brought  Goethe  to 
the  determination  not  to  enter  the  house  for  a  long  time. 

This  incident,  which  occurred  a  few  weeks  after  Maxe's 
wedding,  gave  the  impulse  to  complete  Werther.  Goethe 
had  found  the  mood  and  the  colouring  for  the  second  part 
of  the  novel.  He  took  up  the  work  at  once  and,  shutting 
himself  off  from  all  intercourse,  finished  it  within  four  weeks. 
In  the  autumn  it  appeared  in  print.  What  Goethe  elabor- 
ated in  February,  1774,  cannot  have  been  much  more  than 
the  second  part  of  the  novel.  The  first  part,  after  he  j 
had  decided  to  make  use  of  the  epistolary  form,  was  already  | 
almost  complete  in  his  diaries,  and  his  letters  from  ^ 
Wetzlar  to  Merck  and  his  sister.  For  that  he  reproduces 
these  letters,  artistically  recast,  often,  in  fact,  with  their 
^rigihal_dates,  can  scarcely  be  doubted.  But  it  was  not 
easy  for  him,  with  his  constant  striving  after  the  greatest 
possible  truth,  to  construct  the  letters  of  the  second  part. 
His  manner  of  approaching  the  task  is  most  characteristic 
of  his  method  of  work  and  the  peculiar  imaginative  Hfe 
which  he  led.  He  would  summon  before  him  in  the  spirit, 
so  he  tells  us,  some  one  of  his  acquaintance,  beg  him  to  be 
seated,  walk  back  and  forth  in  front  of  him,  stand  before 
him,  and  discuss  with  him  the  subject  which  at  that  moment 
was  uppermost  in  his  mind.  He  says  that  perhaps  the 
letters  in  Werther  had  such  manifold  charms  because  their 
various  contents  had  first  been  discussed  with  several  in- 
dividuals in  such  imaginary  dialogues,  while  in  the  com- 
position itself  they  seemed  to  be  directed  only  to  a  friend 
and  sympathiser.  Thus  the  poet  succeeded  in  giving  to 
the  work  a  richly  coloured  and  at  the  same  time  a  uniform 
style. 

Let  us  consider  this  book  more  narrowly,  the  most  pe- 
culiar and  magnificent  product  of  the  Storm-and-Stress 
period.     The  hero  is  a  highly  gifted  young  man,  of  about 


I90  XTbe  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

Goethe's  intellectual  constitution,  but  somewhat  more  sensi- 
tive and  gentle,  and  considerably  weaker.  His  weakness  is 
not  weakness  in  proportion  to  the  moral  strength  of  other 
men,  but  solely  in  proportion  to  the  tremendous  power  of  his 
passions ;  for  there  is  nothing  more  stormy  or  impassioned 
;than  this  man's  heart.  The  vehemence  of  his  emotions, 
painful  as  well  as  joyful,  rises  high  above  the  common- 
place. His  passions  are  never  far  from  insanity.  Like  a 
dreamer  he  wanders  about  in  the  world  and  it  seems  to  him 
dark  or  rosy,  according  to  his  own  frame  of  mind.  He 
hates  everything  regular  or  moderate.  He  delights  in 
freedom  from  restraint.  Storm  and  Stress^  and  in  ranting. 
For  this  reason  he  is  an  enemy  of  regular  civic  professions. 
To  him  they  are  despicable  occupations,  which  can  satisfy 
only  small  and  vain  spirits.  But  whoever  is  endowed  with 
depth  of  observation  and  feeling  sees  and  feels  the  dis- 
couraging difference  between  his  own  smallness  and  the 
greatness  of  the  universe,  the  yawning  chasm  between 
"  will  "  and  "can,"  "will  "  and  "may,"  between  "imagine" 
and  "  know,"  between  "  desire  "  and  "  possession." 

We  are  early  filled  with  anxiety  for  the  future  of  this 
high-strung  man,  who  is  now  in  tears  of  joy,  nov/  in  tears  of 
pain.  What  will  be  the  issue  of  his  struggle  with  the  harsh 
realities  of  life?  His  leisure,  giving  him  opportiuiity  to 
observe  and  dissect  his  inmost  feelings,  increases  the  danger 
which  threatens  him.  ^ 

.  To  be  sure,  he  is  happy  as  yet.     In  the  beautiful  month 

^  of  May  he  has  come  to  a  strange  place.     With  full  delight 

he  revels  in  blooming  nature,  in  Homer,  who,  like  a  cradle- 
song,  lulls  his  excited  blood  to  rest,  and  in  association  with 
the  common  people  and  the  children  of  the  poor,  who  re- 
fresh his  heart.  For  with  them  is  truth,  simplicity,  incor- 
ruptness.  As  yet  his  soul  is  as  merry  as  a  spring  morning, 
and  whenever  the  dark  clouds  of  the  world-woe  roll  over 
him  he  half-smilingly  consoles  himself  with  the  sweet  feel- 
ing that  he  can  leave  this  earthly  prison  whenever  he  will. 
Things  go  on  thus  from  the  beginning  of  May  till  the  middle 
of  June.     Then  at  a  ball  he  becomes  acquainted  with  Lotte, 


TKHertber  191 

the  daughter  of  Steward  S.,  and  his  whole  being  plunges 
into  an  absorbing  passion  for  her.  His  heart  exults.  It 
does  not  worry  him  that  Lotte  is  already  engaged ;  Albert, 
her  betrothed,  is  away  and  hence  does  not  exist  in  the 
consciousness  of  the  new  lover.  A  welcome  guest  in  the 
steward's  family,  he  does  not  let  a  day  pass  without  calHng 
there.  Lotte  becomes  to  him,  as  it  were,  a  saint.  He  sees 
her  reflection  in  everybody  who  has  approached  her.  He 
would  like  to  kiss  a  boy  who  has  just  seen  her.  At  the  end 
of  July  Albert  arrives.  Werther  awakes  from  his  dream-life 
and  decides  to  leave.  But  Albert  is  a  dear,  good  fellow 
and  not  jealous, — rejoices,  on  the  contrary,  that  Werther  is 
fond  of  his  fiancee,  and  so  Werther,  with  a  thousand  sophis- 
tries silences  his  friend  Wilhelm,  who  urges  him  to  leave 
the  place,  and  remains.  But  his  temper  grows  worse,  his 
nature  wilder,  more  distracted.  As  before,  he  wanders 
about  a  great  deal  in  the  open  air,  but  nature  is  no  longer 
a  pleasure  to  him.  Heretofore  the  scene  of  a  boundless  life, 
she  has  changed  into  the  abyss  of  an  ever-open  grave.  He 
recognises  the  hopelessness  of  his  situation  and  yet  has  not 
the  strength  to  do  anything  but  shed  tears  over  the  dark 
future.  He  begins  to  discuss  suicide.  "  I  can  see  no  end 
to  all  this  misery  but  the  grave,"  he  writes  to  Wilhelm  on 
the  30th  of  August.  Wilhelm  spurs  him  on  again  to  leave. 
Finally  he  musters  up  his  courage  and  on  the  nth  of 
September  he  flees  frpm  the  volcanic  field  that  is  covered 
over  with  so  many  charms.  This  is  the  end  of  the  first 
part. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  second  part — it  is  the  20th  of 
October — we  see  Werther  in  an  office.  He  has  been  made 
an  attache  to  an  embassy.  He  is  tolerably  well.  Separa- 
tion from  Lotte  and  regular  work  have  calmed  his  over- 
wrought feelings.  But  there  is  no  lack  of  vexations  to 
excite  again  his  sensitive  nerves.  The  ambassador  is  a 
pedant,  "a  punctilious  fool  and  as  fussy  as  an  old  maid," 
finds  fault  with  Werther's  free  style  and  requires  him  to 
apply  the  file  to  his  sentences.  A  legal  pedant,  he  has  no 
use  for  beaux-esprits,  and  emphasises  the  contrast  between 


192  ZTbc  Xifc  of  (3oetbe 

himself  and  Werther  in  unamiable  ways.  Furthermore, 
the  pride  and  stupidity  of  society,  the  petty  distinctions  of 
rank,  the  haughtiness  of  the  nobihty,  offend  Werther,  and 
he  begins  to  regret  that  he  has  allowed  himself  to  submit  to 
the  yoke.  Thus  the  year  comes  to  an  end.  In  February 
of  the  following  year  he  learns  of  the  marriage  of  Albert  and 
Lotte.  He  writes  Albert  a  cordial,  sensible  letter;  he  only 
wishes  to  keep  the  second  place  in  Lotte 's  heart.  Again  we 
have  hopes  for  him. 

Then  in  the  middle  of  March  there  occurs  a  vexatious 
incident  which  insults  his  pride  and  brings  the  discomfort 
of  his  position  to  a  crisis.  He  is  invited  to  dine  with  Coiint 
von  C,  a  great  friend  of  his.  In  the  evening  the  nobility 
I  arrives;  Werther  forgets  that  he  is  not  one  of  them  and 
I  remains  in  the  drawing-room  with  Fraulein  von  B.,  the 
I  most  congenial  of  his  acquaintances,  until  the  count  with 
I  apologies  calls  his  attention  to  the  miserable  etiquette 
iwhich  demands  his  withdrawal.  The  little  incident  is 
circulated  with  exaggerations,  his  acquaintances  ask  him 
about  it,  Fraulein  von  B.  is  scolded  by  her  aunt  for  asso- 
ciating with  Werther — enough  to  inflame  Werther's  bitter 
wrath  and  drive  him  to  the  determination  to  withdraw 
from  this  circle.  He  hands  in  his  resignation  and  in  the 
beginning  of  May  accepts  an  invitation  to  visit  a  certain 
prince.  But  gracious  as  the  prince  is,  he  has  a  mediocre 
mind  and  in  his  society  Werther  is  soon  dying  of  ennui. 
He  now  forms  the  plan  of  going  to  war,  as  Goethe  makes 
Fernando,  Hermann,  and  Eduard  do  in  later  works.  The 
prince  discourages  him,  and  "it  would  have  had  to  be  more 
a  passion  with  me  than  a  whim,  for  me  not  to  have  been 
willing  to  give  ear  to  his  reasons."  He  remains  till  the  end 
of  June.  Then,  aimlessly  following  the  dictation  of  his 
heart,  he  returns  to  Lotte.  He  is  given  a  friendly  welcome 
by  her  and  Albert.  But  he  finds  everything,  everything  so 
changed.  No  trace  of  the  former  world,  no  tingling  of  his 
former  feelings.  His  eyes  are  dry  and  his  brow  contracted 
with  care.  He  sees  in  nature  a  lacquered  picture  and  in 
himself  a  dried-up  spring.     Even  cheerful  Homer  no  longer 


Mcrtber  193 

refreshes  him;  he  prefers  to  lose  himself  in  the  dreadftd 
loneliness  of  Ossian's  mystic  world.  And  Albert  and  Lotte? 
Are  they  happy  ?  Albert  has  become  duller  and  quieter,  and 
the  burden  of  business  has  made  him  more  morose.  Lotte 
does  not  feel  with  him  that  soul-sympathy  which  she  finds  , 
with  Werther.  But  she  is  a  true,  faithful  wife  and  scarcely 
betrays  her  inner  feelings  by  the  slightest  symptom.  But 
Werther,  with  the  keen  sense  of  a  genius  and  a  lover,  feels 
the  slightest  trace  of  sympathy  and  on  that  account  is  the 
less  able  to  part  from  her.  Furthermore,  he  is  completely 
at  sea  as  to  his  future.  He  feels  that  his  honour  is  irre- 
parably injured  by  the  incident  at  the  embassy,  his  love  of 
work  and  his  strength  are  undermined,  and  his  passion  is  a 
hopeless  one.  Consequently  he  is  revolving  in  a  dangerous 
circle:  there  is  no  way  out  but  death.  This  thought  be- 
comes more  and  more  attractive  to  him.  He  begins  to  sur- 
round it  with  religious  sanctity.  He  hopes  for  God's  loving 
acceptance.  "For  would  a  man,  a  father,  be  capable  of 
anger,  if  his  son  returned  unexpectedly,  fell  on  his  neck  and 
cried :  '  Father,  I  have  returned.  Be  not  angry  that  I 
put  an  end  to  the  wanderings  which  it  was  thy  will  that  I 
should  endure  yet  longer.  The  world  is  always  the  same; 
pains  and  labour,  reward  and  joy;  but  what  are  these  to 
me?  I  am  only  at  rest  where  thou  art,  and  before  thy  face 
will  I  siiffer  and  rejoice' — And  thou.  Heavenly  Father, 
wouldst  thou  cast  him  from  thee?" 

Such  is  his  state  during  November  and  the  greater  part 
of  December.  The  more  the  outer  world  becomes  a  dark 
and  barren  wilderness,  the  more,  too,  the  inner.  He  is  de- 
termined to  die.  But  he  wishes  to  see  Lotte  once  more.  On 
the  day  when  the  sun  gives  us  the  smallest  measure  of  light 
he  staggers  to  her  home.  He  finds  her  alone  and  puts  her 
into  the  greatest  confusion.  In  order  to  relieve  the  pain- 
ful situation  she  gets  his  translations  from  Ossian  and  begs 
him  to  read  them  aloud.  They  are  the  most  harrowing 
dirges  of  Colma  and  Alpin,  and  draw  forth  a  torrent  of  tears. 
After  an  emotional  pause  Werther  reads  on  with  trembling 
voice.     But  when  he  comes  to  the  melancholy  vision  of 

VOL.   I. 13. 


194  ^be  Xlfe  of  6oetbe 

Ossian,  "  The  time  of  my  fading  is  near,  the  blast  that  shall 
scatter  my  leaves.  To-morrow  shall  the  traveller  come; 
he  that  saw  me  in  my  beauty  shall  come.  His  eyes  will 
search  the  field,  but  they  will  not  find  me,"  he  is  no  longer 
able  to  contain  himself.  In  complete  despair  he  throws 
himself  at  Lotte's  feet,  grasps  her  hands,  presses  them  to 
his  eyes  and  against  his  brow.  And  Lotte,  suspecting  his 
inner  struggle,  bows  over  him  in  sorrow.  Then  he  em- 
braces her  and  covers  her  Hps  with  passionate  kisses.  She 
pushes  him  away  and,  trembhng  between  love  and  anger, 
hurries  out  of  the  room.  Werther  shoots  himself  the  next 
night. 

We  have  followed  the  inevitable  development  with 
bated  breath;  and  when  the  bullet  puts  an  end  to  the  Hfe 
of  the  weary  wanderer  we,  the  cool,  corroded  sons  of  the 
twentieth  century,  are  incHned  to  mingle  our  tears  with  the 
aged  steward's  and  kiss  the  lips  of  the  departed. 

In  Werther  fell  the  noblest  and  purest  of  htmian  souls. 
With  inexhaustible  love  he  embraced  mankind  and  shared- 
all  their  joys  and  sorrows ;  it  was  his  greatest  delight  to  help 
the  children  and  the  poor:  to  him,  as  to  his  Saviour,  they 
were  dearest ;  nothing  harsh  or  evil  entered  his  breast,  and 
he  shuddered  as  he  embraced  Lotte,  though  but  in  a  dream. 
He  surveys  the  world  with  penetrative  speculation  and 
glows  with  most  genuine  love  for  nature,  and  all  that  is 
great,  good,  and  beautiful.  Hence  we  love  him,  must  love 
him,  despite  the  fact  that  he  is  idle,  weak,  and  vacillating. 
Yet  we  excuse  in  him  even  these  failings ;  for  we  feel  that 
his  idleness  does  not  spring  from  a  disinclination  to  work, 
but  from  a  distaste  for  work  that  kills  the  spirit  and  yet 
bears  no  fruit ;  that  his  weakness  is  only  the  reverse  of  his 
extreme  sensitiveness ;  and  that  his  vacillation  comes  from 
the  pressure  of  intense  passion.  We  are  so  little  able  to 
withdraw  our  sympathy  from  him  that  we  almost  fear  that 
we  ourselves,  with  our  mediocre  strength,  would  sooner 
than  he  fall  a  victim  to  such  a  storm  of  passion. 

From  his  character  flows  the4)lot,  as  the  brook  from  its 
source.     He  must  needs  be  wrecked  on  the  reefs  of  the 


HClcrtber  195 

world,  no  matter  where  he  strikes  them.  Whether  his 
feehng  of  honour  is  wounded,  or  he  is  vexed  by  the  pettiness 
of  a  superior,  or  martyred  by  an  endless,  hopeless  love,  his 
doom  is  sealed.  For  it  may  be  said,  that  even  if  he  had 
won  possession  of  Lotte,  still  he  could  not  have  been  saved. 
His  soul  would  have  gone  to  pieces  on  the  thousand  and  one 
other  rough  places  of  life.  There  is  no  room  in  this  world  y 
for  an  idealistic  dreamer,  who  everywhere  demands  per- 
fection and  absoluteness,  and  yet  with  uncanny  acuteness 
everywhere  discovers  imperfections  and  limitations,  which 
he  feels  with  extraordinary  keenness;  who,  furthermore, 
is  not^ngaged  in  any  productive  activity  which  might  act 
as  a  counterpoise  to  the  discords  which  torture  his  soul.  \ 
Hence  Goethe  rightly  calls  the  untoward  motives  which 
lead  to  Werther's  ruin  mere  incidental  sufferings  that 
overthrow  him  after  he  has  been  already  undermined  by 
visionary  dreams  and  speculations.  The  criticism  that 
Goethe  should  have  limited  himself  to  one  passion — for  ex- 
ample, unfortunate  love — as  a  motive  for  Werther's  suicide, 
is  wholly  without  justification.  The  poet  was  at  liberty  to 
decide  how  many  passions  he  would  employ  as  incidental 
motives,  or  rather  how  man}'^  he  would  elicit  from  the 
depths  of  Werther's  nature  by  means  of  external  charms. 
That  he  did  not  limit  himself  to  one  redounds  to  his  glory. 
The  personality  of  the  hero  came  out  all  the  more  clearly 
and  more  fully,  and  his  downfall  was  the  easier  to  under- 
stand. Likewise  it  is  a  mark  of  the  fineness  of  Goethe's 
plastic  art  that  he  added  to  the  love-motive  exactly  the 
motive  which,  next  to  love,  is  most  powerful  in  the  soul  of  a 
man,  viz.,  honour  and  self-respect.  By  this  means  he  at  the 
same  time  made  it  possible  to  put  Werther  into  an  office 
and  thus  differentiate  him  from  a  weakling,  who  makes  no 
attempt  to  escape  from  an  unhappy  passion  and  engage 
in  serious  activity.  And  there  resulted  the  further  advant- 
age that  the  novel  is  not  all  one  single  chain  of  love  sighs, 
and  that  a  considerable  time — a  year  and  a  half  —  passed 
by  before  the  noble  nature  of  the  hero  was  undermined. 
The  self-destruction  of  a  rich  and  noble  mind  was  a 


196  ^be  Xlfc  of  (Boctbe 

fruitful  motive,  but  entirely  suited  to  engross  the  interest 
of  the  reader  only  when  made  the  nucleus  of  an  involved 
plot.  Goethe  neglected  this  advantage  when  he  reduced 
the  plot  to  the  minimum.  By  so  doing  he  set  himself  the 
task  of  draughting,  instead  of  a  series  of  events,  a  series  of 
soul-portraits  from  which  the  destruction  of  self  must 
follow  as  a  natural  consequence.  For  the  presentation  of 
these  portraits  he  could  have  chosen  no  more  artistic  form 
than  a  monologue  in  letters — a  form,  which,  if  carried  to 
too  great  length,  becomes  wearisome.  However,  the 
interest  never  flags  for  a  moment;  on  the  contrary,  the 
suspense  and  pleasure  are  heightened  from  letter  to  letter. 

What  a  wealth  of  life  Goethe  has  put  into  this  artistic 
mould!  We  find  ourselves  now  in  nature's  broad  domain, 
now  by  the  kitchen  fire  in  the  Wahlheim  inn,  now  at 
the  well,  now  in  the  garden  of  the  parsonage,  now  in  the 
nursery  at  the  steward's,  now  in  the  brilliant  drawing-room 
of  the  count,  now  in  the  miserable  village  tavern.  We  are 
taken  through  all  the  seasons  of  the  year  and  through  all 
the  moods  of  nature :  the  flowery  splendour  of  spring,  the 
glow  and  fruitful  abundance  of  summer,  the  melancholy  fad- 
ing of  autumn,  and  the  rough  storms  of  winter;  in  the 
bright  sunshine,  in  the  light  of  the  moon,  in  the  darkness  of 
night,  in  fog,  rain,  and  snow.  And  this  all  harmonises 
most  effectively  with  Werther's  condition  of  soul. 

And  as  we  are  attracted  by  the  variety  of  situation  and 
scenery,  so  also  by  the  diversity  of  finely  delineated  types 
of  men,  which  Goethe,  in  spite  of  the  uneventful  plot,  has 
succeeded  in  creating.  With  Werther,  the  great  master- 
piece, next  to  Hamlet  the  most  peculiar  figure  in  the  litera- 
ture of  the  world,  we  have  already  become  acquainted. 
Contrasted  with  him  and  his  morbid  quest  of  the  highest 
and  the  final  is  the  beautiful  figure  of  Lotte,  whose  health, 
cheerfulness,  practical  sense,  and  contentment  in  the  little 
duties  of  the  home  fill  us  with  a  lively  satisfaction.  And, 
beside  these  chief  characters,  the  prosaic  husband,  Albert; 
a  belletristic  prince;  a  haughty,  narrow-minded  nobility; 
pedantic   officials;    good,   but   prejudiced   parsons;    noble 


IKIlcrtber  197 

women,  pert  daughters,  and  a  troop  of  most  charming 
children.  By  far  the  most  of  these  figures  have  Httle  to  do 
and  Httle  to  siiffer,  but  they  are  drawn  so  round  and  full 
that  we  contemplate  their  portraits  with  the  same  pleasure 
as  the  unknown  or  to  us  indifferent  persons  whom  the 
brush  of  a  Titian  or  a  Velasquez  has  thrown  upon  the 
canvas.  But  where  our  eyes  and  our  hearts  are  at  rest 
the  poet  stimulates  our  thought.  Profound  observations  on 
the  relation  between  man  and  the  world,  man  and  nature, 
duty  and  desire,  good  and  evil,  are  scattered  here  and  there 
undogmatically  and  without  any  design,  and  give  us  an  in- 
sight into  the  real  world  of  the  novel  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  eternal  and  the  infinite.  At  the  same  time  the  poet 
brings  us  into  an  attitude  of  mind  in  which  we  pardon  what 
is  called  guilt,  because  we  understand  it,  or  at  least  seek  to 
imderstand  it. 

Finally,  the  most  animating  feature  of  the  novel  is  the 
wonderful  warmth  and  naturalness  that  breathe  from  every 
page  of  the  work.  The  style  is  elevated  and  yet  not  artificial. 
We  always  hear  the  spoken  word.  We  always  have  the 
feeling  that  some  one  is  talking  to  us,  amiable,  fiery,  spirited ; 
he  often  speaks  in  long  chains,  link  is  joined  to  link  with 
convincing  eloquence,  but  there  are  no  carefully  weighed, 
artificially  constructed  sentences.  Everything  flows  as 
freely  and  irregularly  as  from  the  lips  of  one  speaking  out 
of  a  full  heart.  And  how  this  style  adapts  itself  to  the 
subject  or  the  mood !  It  is  of  exalted  power  when  the  great 
riddles  of  the  world  are  under  discussion  or  when  the  speaker 
is  filled  with  sublime  enthusiasm  or  infinite  pain;  it  is  of 
biblical  simplicity  in  the  description  of  idyllic  conditions. 
It  is  now  hurried  and  nervous, — read,  for  example,  the 
letter  in  which  the  first  acquaintance  with  Lotte  is  de- 
scribed,— now  charmingly  gentle  and  calm,  now  soft  and 
elegiac,  now  defiant  and  rebellious.  We  think  we  are  read- 
ing, now  a  psalm,  now  a  hymn,  now  a  bit  of  Homer,  now 
the  fragment  of  a  drama.  This  wonderful  novel  in  letters 
glistens  and  gleams  with  all  the  forms  and  colours  of  style, 
and  weariness  is  wholly  a  stranger  to  it.     From  the  great 


198  Zbc  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

periods,  rushing  on  in  splendid  cascades,  at  the  beginning 
of  Werther  (second  letter)  to  the  last  terse  lapidary  sen- 
tences which  roll  over  the  grave  like  the  rumbling  salutes 
of  cannon,  this  style  captivates  and  agitates  our  hearts. 

If  the  effect  is  still  so  great  to-day,  one  can  imagine  what 
it  must  have  been  at  the  time  when  the  work  was  the  re- 
laxing of  a  throbbing  tension,  the  most  perfect  expression 
of  the  world-woe  which  for  years  had  reigned  in  Germany, 
having  grown  up  under  the  influence  of  the  melancholv 
English  elegy,  the  tirades  of  Rousseau  against  the  cor- 
ruptions of  civilisation,  and  under  the  influence  of  an  in- 
active life  which  afforded  ample  time  for  discovering  the 
secrets  of  one's  own  heart  and  the  hearts  of  others.  What 
Goethe  had  suffered,  thousands  of  others  had  suffered, 
less  intensely,  it  may  be,  and  under  fewer  forms.  But  he 
alone  had  known  how  to  give  divine  expression  to  these 
sufferings. 

Moreover,  the  wider  circles,  who,  because  of  regular, 
wholesome  occupation  had  not  become  victims  of  that 
gloomy,  self- torturing  pessimism,  were  profoundly  affected 
I  by  the  tragic  simplicity  and  grandeur  as  well  as  by  the  all- 
pervading  warmth  of  the  work.  The  scholar  and  the  lady- 
in-waiting,  the  cobbler's  apprentice  and  the  servant  girl, 
alike  came  under  the  spell  of  this  magic.  Of  the  multitude 
of  enthusiastic  critiques  let  us  select  but  two.  What  they 
say  is  what  the  whole  reading  world  thought  in  one  form 
or  another.  The  Suabian  poet  Schubart  writes:  "Here  I 
sit  with  melted  heart,  with  throbbing  breast,  and  with  eyes 
shedding  tears  of  voluptuous  pain,  and  tell  you,  kind 
reader,  that  I  have  just — read? — no,  devoured  my  dear 
Goethe's  Die  Leiden  des  jungen  Werther.  Shall  I  criticise? 
If  I  could,  I  should  not  have  the  heart.  Even  the  goddess 
Critica  herself  stands  bathed  in  tears  in  the  presence  of  this 
masterpiece  of,  sensitive  human  feeling.  .  .  .  Shall  I 
select  a  few  beautiful  passages?  I  cannot.  It  would  be 
like  lighting  tinder  with  a  burning-glass  and  saying:  'Be- 
hold, man,  this  is  the  fire  of  the  sun!'  Buy  the  book  and 
read  it  yourself!     But  take  your  heart  with  you!     I  would 


TKHertber  199 

rather  be  poor  for  ever,  sleep  on  straw,  drink  water,  and  eat 
roots,  than  not  be  able  to  feel  with  the  heart  of  a  writer  of 
such  sentiment." 

But  the  Thuringian  poet  Heinse  wrote:  "Whoever  has 
felt  and  still  feels  what  Werther  felt,  finds,  when  he  tries  to 
express  it,  that  his  thoughts  vanish  like  thin  mist  before 
the  blazing  sun.  One's  heart  is  so  full  of  it  and  one's  head 
is  heavy  with  tears.  O  human  life,  what  a  glow  of  sorrow 
and  joy  thou  canst  contain!  .  .  .  There  ever  flow  the 
purest  springs  of  strongest  feeling  of  love  and  life  in  living 
streams  of  holiness  undefiled,  even  when  they  swell  to 
floods  of  highest  passion.  Let  every  female  reader  take  it 
up  in  one  of  her  happy,  quiet  hours  when  the  tide  of  her 
soul  has  again  reached  the  flood.  .  .  .  Receive  my 
warm  and  cordial  thanks,  thou  good  genius,  who  hast  made 
a  gift  of  Werther s  Leiden  to  noble  souls." 

A  very  few  received  the  work  with  divided  feelings,  or 
with  coolness  or  hostility ;  these  were  chiefly  the  clergy  and 
utilitarians  who  feared  dangerous  results.* 

To  find  Lessing  *'  among  the  number,  though  he  did  not 
fail  to  recognise  the  poetical  merits  of  the  work,  is  to  us  an 
unpleasant  discovery.  But  to  him  the  (apparent)  chief 
motive,  a  noble  youth  taking  his  own  life  because  of  un- 
fortunate love,  was  in  itself  odious,  and  he  was  inclined  to 
blame  Christian  civilisation  for  having  produced  such  in- 
dividuals. "  Do  you  for  one  moment  believe,"  he  writes  to 
Eschenburg,  "that  ever  a  Roman  or  Greek  youth  took  his 
life  thus  and  for  such  a  reason?"  "Certainly  not,"  he 
adds.  We  will  not  say  "  Certainly  not"  with  such  a  degree 
of  assurance.  Haemon's  t  suicide  was  not  very  different 
from  Werther's,  as  Lessing  understands  it.     But  this  much 

*  Lotte  and  Kestner  felt  deeply  offended  by  the  exposure  of  delicate 
details,  the  possibility  of  misinterpreting  the  novel,  and  by  the  character 
of  Albert.  It  was  not  easy  for  Goethe  to  heal  the  wound.  "He  cares 
nothing  for  the  opinion  of  men,"  wrote  Kestner  to  a  friend  in  explanation 
of  Goethe's  indiscretion,  "therefore  he  cannot  put  himself  in  the  place  of 
those  who  neither  can  nor  dare  be  so." 

t  Sophocles,  Antigone,  Act  v.,  Scene  i :  "Enraged  and  grieving  for  his 
murdered  love,  he  slew  himself."- 


200  Zhc  %xtc  of  iBoctbe 

we  can  grant  him:  a  personality  such  as  Werther's  was 
impossible  in  antiquity.  It  is  indeed  a  product  of  modem 
Christian  civilisation.  It  required  many  centuries  of  a 
previous  development,  which,  by  means  of  fleeing  from  the 
world,  turning  away  from  material  things,  striving  after 
heavenly  happiness,  penetrating  self-obser\^ation  and  ex- 
amination, produced  a  depth  and  refinement  of  soul-life  of 
which  antiquity  had  no  conception.  In  Germany  it  was 
pietism  which,  a  century  before  Werther,  had  fanned  that 
Christian  movement  toward  subjective  study  of  the  in- 
dividual to  a  new  enthusiasm.  If,  then,  any  city  was 
predestined  to  be  the  birthplace  of  Werther,  it  was  Frank- 
fort, the  birthplace  of  pietism.  Even  if  this  spiritual 
development  brought  along  with  the  refinement  of  the  soul- 
life  an  effeminacy,  a  transcending  of  the  real,  and  many  a 
form  of  dangerous  degeneration,  nevertheless  it  remained 
the  source  of  great  progress  in  humanity.  And  Lessing 
would  have  recognised  this  immediately  if  he  had  remem- 
bered that  the  same  "manliness,"  which  did  not  take 
unhappy  love  tragically,  also  had  no  sympathy  with  the 
lot  of  a  slave  or  barbarian,  while  Werther  pities  every  worm 
which  he  unintentionally  crushes  beneath  his  feet.  If  the 
eighteenth  century  had  desired  to  rear  a  monument  to  the 
long  process  of  civilisation  which  had  furnished  mankind 
with  a  wholly  new  depth  of  feeling  and  knowledge  of  the 
soul,  it  could  not  have  found  a  more  pregnant  or  more 
beautiful  one  than  Werther.  And  from  this  standpoint  the 
novel  is  a  great  historical  document  in  a  still  broader  sense 
than  if  it  be  considered  merely  as  the  most  faithful  reflection 
of  an  important  mood  of  the  time. 

The  storm  ^^  unchained  lashed  the  sea  to  fury  far  and 
wide.  Floods  of  tears  were  shed  over  Werther's  fate,  and 
men  sought  to  think  and  feel  as  he  did.  Sentimental 
youths  adopted  his  costume  (blue  frock  coat,  and  yellow 
waistcoat  and  breeches).  Young  wives  grew  melancholy 
over  their  prosy  husbands  and  longed  for  lovers  like  Wer- 
ther. Werther  and  Lotte  became  a  theme  of  song.  Wer- 
ther urns  were  set  up.     The  real  sources  of  the  work  were 


XKacrtber  201 

sought  out;  it  was  imitated;  Lotte's  letters  were  written; 
it  was  dramatised  and  converted  into  a  minstrel  lay  and 
folk-book.  And  remarkably  enough,  this  work,  so  specific- 
ally German,  with  its  language  almost  incomprehensible  to 
a  foreigner,  and  im translatable,  passed  with  the  greatest 
rapidity  beyond  the  boundaries  of  the  fatherland.  In  a 
few  years  it  had  marched  triumphantly  through  all  the 
civilised  countries  of  the  world.  It  made  the  greatest  im- 
pression on  the  French,  who,  naturally  very  receptive  of 
such  subjects,  had  been  specially  prepared  for  it  by  Rous- 
seau's Nouvelle  Heloise,  the  weak  predecessor  of  Werther. 
Even  the  cold-blooded  Corsican  yielded  to  the  seductive 
charm  of  the  novel;  he  is  said  to  have  read  it  seven  times, 
as  Alexander  had  Homer,  and  to  have  taken  it  with  him  on 
his  campaigns  as  far  as  the  Pyramids.  That  he  was  thor- 
oughly familiar  with  it  was  evident  in  his  conversation  with 
Goethe  in  Erfurt  in  1808. 

What  had  begun  to  ferment  in  Strasburg  had  now  burst 
forth  in  all  its  power.  In  Gotz  the  stormy,  defiant  elements 
in  the  life  of  the  young  generation  had  found  poetic  crys- 
tallisation; in  Werther,  the  visionary,  the  effeminate,  the 
world-woe.  This  exhausted  the  feelings  of  the  Storm-and- 
Stress  movement.  The  young  members  of  the  movement 
vacillated  between  these  two  extremes.  While  the  North 
Germans  were  more  inclined  to  the  lyric  and  the  lachrymose, 
the  South  Germans  sought  satisfaction  rather  in  the  ener- 
getic, the  forced,  the  impatient,  and  the  uncouth.  But  from 
now  on  they  all  recognised  in  Goethe  their  leader,  herald, 
and  apostle.  His  name  became  the  sign  by  which  they 
hoped  to  conquer.  With  gigantic  strides  Goethe's  genius 
had  risen  to  highest  power.  Hardly  had  the  fatherland 
become  acquainted  with  him  in  Gotz,  when  he  conquered 
the  world  ^^  with  Werther.  Nothing  that  he  afterward  ac- 
complished could  outshine  the  crown  of  glory  which 
Werther  laid  upon  his  head.  He  could  produce  no  higher 
pleasure  nor  more  powerful  surprise. 

From  now  on  the  world  expected  of  him  only  the  high- 
est achievements,  and  he  could  hope  to  do  no  more  than 


202  zi)c  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

satisfy  these  expectations.  This  he  did  but  once  afterward, 
and  then  for  a  much  more  restricted  circle,  with  his  Faust. 
This,  too,  in  its  main  outlines,  as  well  as  in  its  most  beauti- 
ful and  effective  parts,  was  an  outgrowth  of  the  Werther 
period. 


XVI 


AFTER    WERTHER 

The  literary  lion — New  productions  and  rumours  of  others — Lavater  and 
Basedow  visitors  in  Goethe's  home — The  three  in  Ems — Their 
journey  to  the  Lower  Rhine — Goethe  visits  the  Jacobis — Recon- 
ciliation with  them — Other  new  acquaintances — Visit  to  Jung- 
Stilhng — Merry  feast — Goethe  and  Fritz  Jacobi  in  Cologne — At 
home  again — Gigantic  literary  conceptions — Aid  given  to  other 
writers — Klopstock's  visit — Other  visitors — By  his  readiness  to 
give  financial  help  to  others  Goethe  becomes  involved  in  debt — 
Das  Mariage spiel — Anna  Sibylla  Miinch — The  princes  of  Weimar 
and  suite  in  Frankfort — Goethe's  reconciliation  with  Wieland — 
Death  of  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg. 


J 


**  ■'UST  as  after  a  general  confession  I  again  felt  happy 
and  free  and  had  a  new  lease  of  life."  So  Goethe 
describes  his  condition  after  Werther.  With  un- 
bounded joy,  as  if  he  were  a  university  student  again,  he 
plunged  into  the  rushing  stream  of  life  which  began  to 
surge  about  him  in  the  summer  of  1774.  Many  who  were 
prominent  in  the  field  of  literature,  or  sought  to  become  so, 
not  a  few  who  enjoyed  a  certain  distinction  because  of  noble 
birth  or  high  official  rank,  together  with  a  large  number  of 
the  idle  and  the  curious,  approached  the  famous  poet  in 
order  to  make  his  acquaintance  or  gain  his  influence.  In 
an  extremely  short  time  he  had  become  a  highly  praised, 
popular,  and  much-talked-of  personage.  For  whatever 
may  have  been  their  attitude  toward  him,  everybody  had 
to  confess,  either  privately  or  publicly,  that  he  was  the 
most  important  phenomenon  in  the  intellectual  life  of  Ger- 
many, even  before  Werther  had  appeared.  The  revolution- 
ary creation,  Gotz,  the  profound,  bold,  impassioned  reviews 

203 


204  Zbc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

in  the  Frankfurter  Gelehrten  Anzeigen,  the  farces,  over- 
flowing with  wit,  humour,  and  exuberance  of  spirit,  the 
exquisite,  soulful  lyrics,  in  tender  and  in  heroic  vein,  and 
the  plans  which  he  was  evolving  for  further  works  had  soon 
aroused,  even  in  distant  circles,  admiration,  not  unmingled 
in  certain  quarters  with  indignation.  His  projected  com- 
positions are  mentioned  here  with  the  rest,  because  a  great 
deal  more  of  his  work  was  known  than  was  printed.  Of 
the  farces  Goiter,  Helden  und  Wieland,  a  sharp  satire  on 
Wieland's  spiritless  representation  of  the  Greek  heroic 
world  and  his  weak  moral  conceptions,  had  not  appeared 
until  Easter,  1774,  neither  had  the  Prolog  zu  Bahrdts  neuesten 
Offenharungen  Gottes;  but  Pater  Brey,  Das  Jahrmarktsfest 
zu  Plunder sweilern,  and  Das  Ungliick  der  Jacohis,  which  was 
later  lost  entirely,  had  either  long  been  in  circulation  or  were 
known  by  nmiour.  The  same  was  true  of  many  unpublished 
lyrics,  and  particularly  of  certain  fragments  and  outlines  of 
dramas.  There  was  talk  about  a  Mahomet,  a  Cdsar,  a 
Prometheus,  and  a  Faust,  which  surpassed  everything  that 
Goethe  had  ever  achieved.  Moreover,  copies  of  Werther 
had  been  sent  round  since  Easter.  In  the  lively  literary 
intercourse  of  those  days  news  passed  rapidly  from  mouth 
to  mouth  and  manuscripts  from  hand  to  hand.  No  wonder 
that  the  quiet  Frankfort  house,  with  its  coat-of-arms  bear- 
ing the  three  lyres,  was  a  much-sought  spot. 

The  first  prominent  man  who,  in  the  summer  of  1774, 
came  from  a  distance  to  visit  him,  ushering  in  weeks  of 
exceeding  joy,  was  Lavater.  The  pious,  visionary  prophet 
came  from  his  home  in  Zurich  to  seek  to  restore  his  health 
at  the  mineral  springs  in  Ems.  He  and  Goethe  had  already 
had  some  correspondence.  Parts  of  Goethe's  little  tract, 
published  the   year   before,  entitled    Brief   des   Pastors  zu 

an  den  neuen  Pastor  zu ,  in  which  tolerance 

was  preached  as  a  part  of  faith,  had  made  a  profound  im- 
pression on  Lavater.  Besides,  the  poet  had  sent  him  profiles 
for  his  work  on  physiognomy,  and,  finally,  the  manuscript 
of  Werther. 

Each  was   eager  to  meet   the   other;    each   hoped   to 


Hfter  TDQcrtber  205 

convert  the  other.  Goethe  thought  he  could  instil  inde- 
pendence into  Lavater,  Lavater  faith  into  Goethe.  Each 
found  his  plans  of  conversion  superfluous  or  fruitless ;  each 
found  the  other  different  and  better  than  he  had  expected. 
The  most  happily  surprised  of  the  two  was  Lavater.  He 
was  eight  years  older  than  Goethe,  very  lean,  and  had  a 
gentle  but  enraptured  expression  of  countenance.  When 
he  came  on  the  23d  of  June  to  pay  his  visit,  Goethe  ex- 
claimed: "Art  thou  he?"—"  I  am."—"  Ineffably  sweet,  in- 
describable scene  of  contemplation,"  writes  Lavater  in  his 
diary.  "  Everything  that  Goethe  said  to  me  was  spirit  and 
truth.  .  .  .  He  read  much  to  me  from  his  papers,  and 
read — read  a  quantity — drama,  epic,  and  doggerel.  One 
would  have  sworn  that  he  was  saying  it  for  the  first  time, 
he  was  so  full  of  fire.  His  work,  oh,  scenes  full  of  true  and 
truest  human  nature,  indescribable  naivete  and  truth!" 
"A  genius  without  peer,  who  excels  in  everything  that  he 
undertakes." 

Lavater  tarried  five  days  in  Goethe's  home,  surrounded 
by  many  admiring  and  curious  visitors,  among  them  Merck, 
whose  sarcastic  tongue  was  loosened  when  the  women  ex- 
amined most  carefully  even  the  prophet's  bedroom.  The 
extraordinary  man  with  his  profound  insight  and  feehng 
had,  in  spite  of  all  differences,  so  ingratiated  himself  in  the 
poet's  heart  that  Goethe  decided  to  accompany  him  as  far 
as  Ems.  He  had  hardly  returned  home  when  a  prophet  of 
another  sort  presented  himself,  Basedow,  the  champion  of  a 
new  pedagogy  based  on  the  principles  of  Rousseau, — a  sharp 
contrast  to  Lavater.  Lavater,  a  fine,  clean  personality 
with  an  agreeable  expression  of  countenance  and  a  pleasant 
tone  of  voice;  Basedow,  ugly,  rude,  dirty,  and  harsh- 
voiced  ;  the  former  devout  and  patient,  the  latter  extremely 
rationaHstic  and  hostile  to  all  dogma,  a  reckless  antagonist 
of  the  convictions  of  others.  Goethe  was  nevertheless  at- 
tracted by  his  active  and  original  mind  and  defended  him- 
self good-naturedly  against  his  peculiar  notions.  It  was 
more  striking  that  Lavater,  whom  Basedow  followed  to 
Ems,  came  to  a  most  harmonious  understanding  with  his 


2o6  Zbc  Xife  of  6oetbe 

opposite.  But  the  two  men  were  so  deeply  interested  in 
the  newness  of  the  ideas  which  they  represented,  the  one  on 
pedagogy,  the  other,  physiognomy  and  Christian  mysticism, 
that  they  easily  overlooked  many  things  in  each  other. 
And  if  Basedow  became  too  radical  Lavater  brought  him 
back  to  reason  by  a  cordial,  ''  Bisch  guet"  ("  Be  good  now  "). 
Goethe  could  not  long  endure  being  so  near  to  these  peculiar 
celebrities  and  yet  separated  from  them.  On  the  15th  of 
July  he  followed  them  to  Ems,  and  now  the  three  formed 
the  strangest  triad  that  could  have  been  brought  together 
in  Germany  at  that  time. 

Happy  days  were  spent  together.  Lavater  was  not  a 
devotee;  with  all  his  religion  he  was  cheerful,  witty,  and 
fond  of  life.  Goethe  was  bubbling  over  with  merriment. 
From  early  morning  till  late  at  night  he  was  employed  in 
one  continual  round  of  dances,  masquerades,  serenades,  and 
excursions.  Meanwhile  he  did  not  fail  to  learn  what  he 
could  from  his  two  prophets,  and  it  actually  happened  that 
during  a  ball  on  one  occasion  he  quickly  ran  up-stairs  to 
see  Basedow,  became  absorbed  in  the  discussion  of  a  philo- 
sophical problem,  and  a  half-hour  later  was  back  whirling 
about  with  his  partner  in  the  dance. 

On  the  1 8th  of  July  the  three  started  together  on  a  jour- 
ney to  the  Lower  Rhine.  They  travelled  by  boat,  first 
down  the  Lahn.  While  in  sight  of  the  Lahneck  castle 
Goethe  improvised  the  spirit-greeting,  Hoch  auf  dem  al- 
ien Turme  steht.  Later  he  spoke  about  ''die  Kerls  in  den 
Schlossern."  They  dined  in  Coblentz,  and  Goethe  pre- 
served the  memory  of  the  occasion  in  the  exquisite  little 
picture,  Diner  zu  Koblenz,  which  in  a  few  clever  strokes 
portrays  his  two  prophets,  between  whom  he  sits  as  a  child 
of  the  world. 

Then  they  continued  their  journey  to  Neuwied.  On  the 
way  Goethe's  inexhaustible  poetic  vein  yielded  the  inspiring 
lyric  duo,  Des  KUnstlers  Vergotteriing,  in  which  the  master 
consoles  the  pupil,  who,  discouraged  by  the  work  of  a 
genius,  lays  aside  his  brush.  "You  will  be  a  master,"  he 
says;  "your  strong  feeling  of  the  superior  greatness  of  this 


after  HClertber  207 

artist  shows  that  your  mind  is  like  his."  In  the  evening 
they  landed  at  Neuwied  and  paid  a  visit  at  Court,  where 
they  were  most  heartily  welcomed.  On  the  20th  of  July 
Lavater  and  Goethe  continued  the  journey.  At  first  they 
travelled  by  boat.  "  Goethe  in  romantic  attire,  a  grey  hat, 
ornamented  with  a  half- withered  bunch  of  dear  flowers," 
reads  aloud  from  his  operetta  Elmire,  declaims  and  versifies, 
till  they  gradually  draw  near  Bonn.  There  they  take  a 
carriage  for  Cologne,  where  they  separate.  Lavater  leaves 
the  same  day  for  Miihlheim,  Goethe  for  Diisseldorf,  where 
he  makes  the  acquaintance  of  two  men  whom  he  has  long 
avoided,  the  brothers  Georg  and  Fritz  Jacobi. 

It  was  woman's  work  that  compromised  the  misunder- 
standing between  Goethe  and  the  Jacobis,  brought  about 
chiefly  by  Georg's  effeminate,  fulsome,  and  self-complacent 
manner.  One  of  the  women,  the  young  aunt  of  the  Jacobis 
("aunty"),  Demoiselle  Johanna  Fahlmer,  had  been  living 
in  Frankfort  for  two  years,  and  by  her  tender  emotions  and 
imcommonly  well-trained  intellect  had  soon  endeared  her- 
self to  Goethe.  Another  was  a  capable  daughter  of  the 
Netherlands,  Fritz  Jacobi 's  wife,  Betty,  clever,  cordial, 
cheerful,  realistic,  reminding  one  of  a  Rubens  figure.  The 
third  was  the  true-hearted  half-sister  of  the  Jacobis,  Lott- 
chen,  who  like  her  sister-in-law  had  from  time  to  time 
visited  in  Frankfort.  All  together  gradually  overcame 
Goethe's  dislike,  which,  so  far  as  Fritz  Jacobi  was  con- 
cerned, had  very  little  foundation.  With  his  tender  heart, 
only  too  ready  to  make  rich  amends  for  every  wrong  he  had 
done,  Goethe  needed  only  to  meet  Fritz  Jacobi,  with  his 
fine  nature  and  depth  of  feeling  to  take  him  to  his  heart  at 
once.  In  his  enthusiasm  he  writes  to  Fritz's  wife,  who  is 
away  from  home:  "Your  Fritz,  Betty,  my  Fritz.  You 
triumph,  Betty,  and  I  had  sworn  never  to  mention  his 
name  to  his  dear  ones,  until  I  could  call  him,  as  I  thought 
I  could  call  him  and  now  do.  .  .  .  How  fine,  that  you 
were  not  in  Diisseldorf ,  that  I  did  the  simple  bidding  of  my 
heart.  Not  brought  in  by  a  master  of  ceremonies  and  in- 
troduced with  apologies,  I  fell  right  down  out  of  the  sky 


2o8  Zbe  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

before  Fritz  Jacobi!  And  he  and  I,  and  I  and  he!  And 
before  a  sisterly  look  could  prepare  the  way  we  were  what 
we  should  and  could  be." 

In  the  strengthening  of  the  bond  of  union  Spinoza  was 
no  small  factor.  Goethe  had  recently  overcome  the  pre- 
judices earlier  implanted  in  him  against  this  philosopher 
and  had  just  read  his  Ethica,  where  he  had  found  soothing 
for  his  passions  and  acquired  a  broad  and  Hberal  view  of 
the  physical  and  moral  world.  But  what  pleased  him 
especially  was  the  infinite  unselfishness  which  shines  through 
Spinoza's  teachings.  For  to  be  unselfish  in  everything, 
most  unselfish  in  love  and  friendship,  was  his  own  highest 
pleasure,  his  maxim,  his  practice.  Now  Fritz  Jacobi  was 
likewise  an  admirer  of  Spinoza  and  was  impressed  with  the 
grandeur  and  logic  of  his  system,  which  at  the  same  time 
seemed  to  him  to  demonstrate  the  limitations  of  the  under- 
standing. The  difference  between  his  and  Goethe's  atti- 
tude toward  the  Dutch  philosopher  made  it  necessary  for 
them  to  come  to  a  mutual  understanding,  and  lent  an  en- 
hanced charm  to  their  intercourse.  Furthermore,  Goethe 
had  at  that  time  not  penetrated  deeply  enough  into  the  meta- 
physical basis  of  Spinozism,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  was  too 
much  given  to  believe  in  things  beyond  the  realm  of  sense 
not  to  lend  a  willing  ear  to  the  philosophy  of  faith  by  which 
Jacobi  sought  to  transcend  Spinoza's  pantheism,  that  denies 
a  personal  extramundane  God  and  the  freedom  of  the  will. 

In  Pempelfort,  Fritz  Jacobi 's  country-seat,  near  Diis- 
seldorf,  Goethe  met  the  elder  brother,  Georg;  also  the 
poet  Heinse,  whose  Laidion,  glowing  with  sensuality,  had 
charmed  him;  and  Werthes,  whose  emotional  life  was  half 
Wielandian,  half  Klopstockian.  Goethe,  whose  real  heart 
was  as  beautiful  as  it  was  rarely  disclosed,  took  the  circle 
by  storm.  Heinse  called  him  the  "youth  of  twenty-five, 
genius,  might,  and  strength,  from  toe  to  crown,  his  heart 
full  of  feeling,  his  mind  full  of  fire,  with  the  wings  of  an 
eagle,  qui  ruit  immensus  ore  profunda. "  *     From  Pempel- 

*C}.  Horace,  Odes,  4,  2,  7/.;    immensusque  ruit  profundo  Pindarus 
ore. — C. 


after  Mcrtber  209 

fort  Goethe  with  the  two  Jacobis  and  Heinse  went  to 
Elberfeld  to  visit  Jung-Stilling.  Goethe  could  not  deny 
himself  the  pleasure  of  surprising  his  dear  old  friend  with 
a  joke.  From  the  hotel  where  he  lodged  he  sent  for  Doctor 
Jung,  saying  he  was  ill.  Jung  found  the  strange  patient 
lying  in  bed  with  heavy  cloths  about  his  neck  and  head,  and 
stretching  out  his  hand.  Jung  had  hardly  examined  his 
pulse  when  he  felt  two  arms  about  him  and  recognised 
to  his  indescribable  joy  his  former  fellow-student  at 
Strasburg.  By  chance  Lavater  also  arrived  the  same  day 
with  a  few  queer  saints,  and  the  whole  company  dined 
with  several  people  of  the  city  at  the  home  of  one  of 
Lavater's  friends.  About  all  the  movements  in  German 
intellectual  life  were  here  represented.  Jung  has  given  us 
a  splendid  description  of  this  round  table.  All  were  ab- 
sorbed in  spirited  conversation.  But  Goethe  finds  no  repose 
in  his  seat.  The  remarkable  circle  offers  him  royal  amuse- 
ment. He  does  not  know  how  he  shall  control  his  inward 
pleasure,  makes  the  most  varied  grimaces,  dances  around 
the  table,  and  plays  all  sorts  of  pranks.  The  Elberfeld 
Philistines  think  the  man  must  be  a  little  daft.  But  Jung 
and  others  thought  they  would  burst  with  laughter,  when 
some  one  would  stare  at  him  with  pitying  glance  as  it  were 
and  he  would  turn  and  annihilate  the  starer  with  his  great 
piercing  eyes. 

After  another  short  stay  in  Pempelfort  Goethe  returned 
to  Ems.  Fritz  Jacobi  went  with  him  as  far  as  Cologne; 
and  here  the  happiness  of  the  two  reached  its  climax.  The 
ruins  of  the  cathedral  were  depressing  rather  than  uplifting 
to  Goethe,  but  the  house  of  the  deceased  Cologne  patrician, 
Jabach,  which  had  for  a  century  remained  unchanged  in  its 
artistic  furnishings,  and  in  which  the  family  group  by 
Lebrun  (now  in  the  Berlin  Museum)  represented  the  former 
occupants  with  as  lifelike  freshness  as  if  they  were  present 
in  person,  made  an  overwhelming  impression  upon  the  poet. 
A  whole  train  of  most  far-reaching  and  affecting  thoughts 
and  feelings,  of  which  we  can  scarcely  form  any  conception, 
were  inspired  in  him  by  this  sight.     The  deepest  depths  of 

VOL.  I. 14. 


2IO  Hbe  Xite  of  (Boctbe 

his  human  powers,  as  he  says,  were  here  sounded,  and  all 
the  goodness  and  love  in  his  soul  evoked.  In  this  state  of 
ecstasy  he  seems  to  have  indulged  in  rapturous  improvisa- 
tions before  the  painting.  In  short,  Fritz  Jacobi  was  most 
profoundly  moved  by  his  words,  sank  on  his  bosom,  and 
wept  "  sacred  tears."  The  evening  was  a  worthy  end  to  the 
day.  They  were  in  the  parlour  of  the  Gasthof  zum  Geist, 
the  moon  rose  over  the  Seven  Mountains  and  cast  its  silvery 
sheen  upon  the  softly  flowing  waters  of  the  Rhine.  Goethe 
sat  on  the  table  and  recited  his  newest  romances,  Es  war  ein 
Bule  frech  genung  and  Der  Konig  in  Thule,  with  all  the  more 
expression  as  they  had  not  yet  been  sent  out  into  the  world. 
At  midnight  he  called  Jacobi  out  of  bed.  They  revelled  in 
the  full  exchange  of  thought,  and  as  Jacobi  listened  to 
Goethe's  words  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  receiving  a 
new  soul.  "I  could  not  let  you  go,"  he  confessed  forty 
years  later,  with  a  fervour  as  if  he  had  just  passed  through 
the  memorable  experience. 

In  Ems  Goethe  saw  Lavater  only  for  a  moment,  but 
passed  considerable  time  with  Basedow.  In  the  middle  of 
August  he  was  at  home  again,  to  the  joy  of  his  mother,  to 
whom  the  house  in  his  absence  had  seemed  as  lonesome  as 
if  completely  deserted. 

A  new  and  more  stirring  life  than  ever  followed.  His 
creative  power  and  his  desire  to  produce,  which  had  arisen 
to  such  extraordinary  height,  kept  him  in  a  restless  activity. 
One  mighty  subject  after  another  he  dragged  into  his 
poetic  workshop  and  played  with  the  great  blocks  of  marble 
as  if  they  were  pebbles.  Cdsar,  Mahomet,  Prometheus, 
Faust,  were  still  in  hand  when  he  took  up  a  new  and  gigantic 
subject,  Der  ewige  Jude.  In  a  long-drawn-out  epic,  h  la 
Hans  Sachs,  as  the  surviving  fragments  show,  he  intended 
to  follow  the  wandering  Jew  through  the  centuries,  tarrying 
at  important  points  in  the  history  of  religion  and  the 
church,  and  in  this  way  give  a  figurative  presentation  of  his 
own  attitude  toward  Christianity  and  the  church  in  a  witty 
and  grotesquely  humorous  style.  Beside  these  great  works 
he  had  a  hundred  small  ones  in  hand.     His  poetical  pro- 


after  Mertber  211 

jects  and  ideas  followed  him  without  ceasing,  and  he  must 
often  have  sprung  out  of  bed  in  the  middle  of  the  night  in 
order  to  fix  some  poetic  inspiration  upon  the  first  scrap  of 
paper.  And  as  if  he  did  not  have  burden  enough  of  his 
own  he  loaded  himself  down  with  the  work  of  others,  for 
example,  Salzmann's  Moralische  Abhandlungen,  Lavater's 
Physiognomische  Fragmente,  Jung-Stilling's  Lebensgeschichte, 
and  Lenz's  writings.  The  most  of  the  luidertakings  be- 
gun at  that  time  remained  fragments.  Neither  time  nor 
strength  was  ample  to  finish  them. 

New  guests  arrived.  Early  in  October  came  the  most 
honoured  lord  of  the  German  Parnassus,  Klopstock.  The 
author  of  the  Messias  and  the  Oden  fulfilled  Goethe's  expec- 
tations only  in  a  moderate  measure.  For  he  preser^-ed  a 
serious  and  measured  dignity  and  avoided  a  discussion  of 
the  things  that  were  nearest  to  our  poet's  heart,  namely, 
poetry  and  literature.  On  the  other  hand,  he  expatiated  at 
great  length  on  the  subjects  of  riding  and  skating.  Goethe 
accompanied  him  as  far  as  Darmstadt  and  on  his  retiim 
composed  in  the  post-chaise  the  ode  An  Schwager  Kronos,  a 
grotesque  effusion  of  his  restless  longing  for  active  life,  in 
which  he  says  he  would  rather  drive,  young  and  intoxicated, 
at  top  speed  to  hell  than  grow  grey  at  a  slow  trot.  Great 
Klopstock  was  followed  by  his  Gottingen  disciples,  who 
had  already  learned  to  admire  Goethe  from  afar  because  of 
his  feeling  style  and  his  opposition  to  the  effeminate  manner 
of  Wieland  and  Georg  Jacobi.  First  of  all,  Boie  and  Hahn. 
Boie,  the  editor  of  the  Musenalmanach,  after  corresponding 
with  Goethe  for  some  time,  spent  two  days  (October  15th 
and  17th)  in  Frankfort.  After  the  first  day  he  wrote  to  his 
family :  "A  whole  day  spent  all  alone  and  undisturbed  with 
Goethe,  with  Goethe,  whose  heart  is  as  great  and  noble  as 
his  mind !  I  cannot  describe  the  day !  .  .  .  I  made  him 
read  a  great  deal  to  me,  completed  works  and  fragments, 
and  in  everything  rings  his  original  tone,  his  peculiar  force, 
and  with  all  the  oddities  and  errors  everything  bears  the 
stamp  of  genius.  His  Doctor  Faust  is  almost  finished  and 
seems  to  me  the  greatest  and  most  peculiar  of  all ! "    Goethe 


212  tCbe  Xife  of  Ooetbe 

exerted  a  stronger  influence  on  Werthes,  who  visited  him 
on  a  journey  to  Switzerland,  and  on  this  occasion  for  the 
first  time  really  became  acquainted  with  him,  as  in  Pempel- 
fort  he  had  been  obHged  to  keep  in  the  background.  In 
Berne  he  is  still  completely  carried  away  by  the  impression 
he  has  received.  "This  Goethe,"  he  writes  from  there  to 
Fritz  Jacobi,  "  of  whom  and  of  whom  alone  I  should  Hke  to 
speak  and  stammer  and  sing  and  chant  dithyrambs  with 
you  from  the  rising  till  the  setting  of  the  sun  and  from  the 
setting  till  the  rising  again,  whose  genius  stood  between 
Klopstock  and  me  and  cast,  as  it  were,  a  robe  of  sunshine 
over  the  Alps  and  snow-covered  mountain  peaks,  him- 
self ever  before  me  and  beside  me  and  above  me, — this 
Goethe  has,  so  to  speak,  risen  above  all  the  ideals  which  I 
had  ever  formed  of  the  directness  of  feeling  and  obser\^ation 
of  a  great  genius.  Never  before  could  I  have  given  such 
a  sympathetic  exegesis  of  the  feeUng  of  the  disciples  on  the 
way  to  Emmaus,  which  prompted  them  to  say :  '  Did  not 
our  heart  bum  within  us,  while  he  talked  with  us  by  the 
way?'  Let  us  make  of  him  our  Christ,  and  let  me  be  the 
smallest  of  his  disciples.  He  spoke  so  much  and  so  well 
with  me;  words  of  everlasting  life,  which,  as  long  as  I 
breathe,  shall  be  my  creed."  Also  the  Swiss  pedagogue 
von  Salis,  the  Strasburg  theologian  Blessig,  and  many  others 
came  to  pay  their  respects  to  our  poet.  The  number  of 
his  friends  in  Frankfort  was  increased  by  the  arrival  of 
Heinrich  Leopold  Wagner,  who  settled  there  in  the  autumn 
and  was  at  first  well  received  by  Goethe  because  of  his  many 
good  qualities. 

Not  all  the  visits  were  free  from  a  bitter  after- taste.  As 
Goethe's  generosity  and  good  nature  were  well  known,  he  was 
thronged  by  persons  in  need,  and  adventurers  who  borrowed 
money  from  him  or  asked  him  to  go  their  security.  He 
unwillingly  and  very  seldom  refused  and  thus  he  found 
himself  obliged  to  incur  debts  to  his  near  friends  (La  Roche, 
Jacobi,  Merck)  which  burdened  him  for  years  afterwards. 
Neither  were  his  parents  always  edified  by  the  concourse  of 
visitors,  much  as  they  were  flattered  by  the  fame  of  their 


after  HCleitbcr  213 

son.  The  disturbance  in  the  house  was  annoying  to  his 
father,  and  the  continual  entertaining  of  literary  and  often 
very  questionable  guests  grew  to  be  a  burden  to  his  mother. 
Besides,  his  father  feared  that  the  ceaseless  interruptions 
might  completely  divert  him  from  his  serious  calling  in  life, 
which  he  now,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five,  ought  at  last  to  be 
taking  up  in  earnest ;  while  his  mother,  who  had  a  deeper 
insight  into  his  private  affairs,  was  worried  over  the  con- 
sequences of  his  generosity  and  willingness  to  go  security. 
Accordingly  both  considered  marriage  the  best  means  of 
making  their  son  more  settled,  regular,  and  practical.  To 
their  joy  things  seemed  to  be  drifting  that  way. 

In  the  circle  of  Frankfort  friends  a  game,  known  as  das 
Mariage spiel,  had  been  in  vogue  for  some  time.  Young 
men  and  young  women  were  paired  off  by  lot,  and  the 
separate  couples  had  to  consider  themselves  husband  and 
wife  for  one  week.  In  the  spring  of  1774  the  lot  three  times 
in  succession  coupled  Goethe  with  the  sixteen-year-old 
Anna  Sibylla  Miinch.^o  When  it  happened  the  third  time 
the  merry  law-giver  of  the  company,  Herr  Krespel,  declared 
that  Heaven  had  spoken,  the  couple  could  never  again  be 
separated.  Goethe,  who  was  pleased  with  the  pretty, 
sensible,  domestic  girl,  was  quite  satisfied  with  this  decree 
and  in  the  cordial  intercourse,  during  which  the  intimate 
"  Du"  was  gradually  carried  from  the  game  into  real  life, 
the  pleasure  of  the  young  people  in  each  other's  company 
grew  to  fondness.  Goethe's  parents  looked  upon  the  at- 
tachment with  great  joy,  for  they  had  long  been  kindly 
disposed  toward  the  girl  and  now  hoped  that  their  son 
would  find  in  her  a  good  wife  and  they  a  good  daughter-in- 
law.  They  hoped  the  betrothal  would  soon  take  place, 
and,  in  order  that  the  bond  might  not  be  loosened  as  a 
result  of  idle  literary  associations,  Goethe  was  to  take  his 
long-promised  journey  to  Italy  and  be  married  immediately 
after  his  return.  The  eager  desire  for  such  developments 
veiled  the  clear  eyes  of  his  mother.  Otherwise  she  would 
have  seen  that  nothing  was  farther  from  his  mind  than 
thoughts  of  marriage,  and  that  he  was  least  of  all  thinking 


2  14  ^be  Xlfc  of  (Boetbe 

of  beginning  the  life  of  a  pater  familias  by  the  side  of  young 
Fraulein  Munch.  Not  a  trace  of  passion  had  she  inspired 
in  him;  in  all  the  letters  of  the  year  1774  there  is  scarcely 
anywhere  anything  to  remind  us  of  the  lovely  intercourse 
with  this  agreeable  partner.  In  the  autumn  the  weak 
chain  of  flowers  fell  withered  from  his  arms.  But  the  year 
did  not  come  to  an  end  without  his  forming  another  attach- 
ment which,  eleven  months  later,  gave  the  most  decisive 
direction  to  his  life. 

It  was  on  the  nth  of  December  that  there  arrived 
in  Frankfort  on  their  journey  to  Paris  the  two  princes  of 
Weimar,  Karl  August  and  Konstantin,  with  their  suite, 
Count  Gortz,  Captain  von  Knebel,  and  Master  of  the  Horse 
Stein-Kochberg.  Knebel,  who  took  a  lively  interest  in  litera- 
ture and  had  himself  made  some  literary  attempts,  did  not 
fail  to  seek  out  the  author  of  Werther  and  invite  him  to  pay 
his  respects  to  the  princes.  Goethe  was  received  by  them 
with  much  ease  and  cordiality,  and  as  Moser's  Patriotische 
Phantasien  chanced  to  be  lying  on  the  table  the  conversa- 
tion turned  to  the  reform  proposals  of  this  patriotic  poli- 
tician. It  was  not  difficult  for  Goethe  to  win  the  favour, 
especially  of  the  clever,  active  Crown  Prince  Karl  August. 
He  was  invited  to  follow  the  princes  to  Mainz,  where  they 
were  to  take  a  few  days  of  rest,  and  although  his  father, 
with  his  democratic  sympathies,  had  a  deep  mistrust  of  any 
kind  of  intercourse  with  princes,  yet  by  the  intervention  of 
Fraulein  von  Klettenberg  Goethe  received  permission  to 
accept  the  invitation.  Incidentally  this  evidences  Goethe's 
obedience  to  his  father  and  his  reverence  for  him  in  spite  of 
his  own  years  and  fame.  With  Knebel,  who  had  remained 
behind  a  day  in  Frankfort  "  in  order  to  enjoy  the  best  of  all 
men,"  Goethe  followed  the  princes  on  the  thirteenth  and 
was  again  very  cordially  received.  When  the  conversation 
drifted  to  recent  literature,  and  Goethe's  satire  on  Wieland, 
who  was  very  popular  at  the  Weimar  Court,  was  discussed, 
the  princes  felt  obliged  to  use  the  opportunity  to  prepare 
the  way  for  a  reconciliation  between  the  two  poets,  and  they 
persuaded  Goethe  to  direct  a  conciliatory  letter  to  Wieland. 


after  Mcrtber  2 1 5 

Goethe  was  not  unwilling  to  do  so.  For,  after  all,  he  was 
fond  of  Wieland,  and  had  but  half  willingly,  and  in  order 
to  give  vent  to  a  momentary  anger,  dashed  off  the  satire 
while  sitting  over  a  bottle  of  Burgundy,  and  then,  at 
the  urgent  request  of  his  friends,  had  given  Lenz,  in  whose 
hands  it  then  was,  permission  to  have  it  printed.  When 
he  had  written  the  letter,  he  exclaimed  sorrowfully,  as 
Knebel  narrates:  "Now  I  am  again  good  friends  with 
everybody,  with  the  Jacobis,  with  Wieland — and  I  don't 
like  it  at  all.  Such  is  the  nature  of  my  soul,  that  just  as  I 
must  have  something  to  which  I  can  attribute  for  a  time 
the  ideal  of  excellence,  so  also  in  turn  something  as  the 
object  of  my  extreme  wrath." 

Goethe  and  the  Weimar  guests  did  not  part  without 
having  gained  an  enduring  appreciation  of  one  another. 
But,  in  spite  of  the  favourable  course  of  the  visit,  Goethe's 
father  retained  his  mistrust,  and  declared  that  all  friendli- 
ness of  noble  lords  was  mere  dissimulation,  and  they  were 
perhaps  planning  some  evil  against  him.  With  this  con- 
tinued difference  of  opinion  it  must  have  saddened  Goethe 
all  the  more  when  his  good  and  helpful  mediator,  Fraulein 
von  Klettenberg,  who  had  so  recently  made  his  journey  to 
Mainz  possible,  was  called  away  by  death  during  his  ab- 
sence. Her  heavenly  life  had  come  to  a  heavenly  end. 
Goethe  felt  that  in  this  kind  friend  Frankfort  had  suffered 
a  severe  loss.  "Mama,"  he  writes  in  a  bitter  mood  to 
Sophie  La  Roche,  "  that  calks  a  fellow's  seams  and  teaches 
him  to  hold  his  head  straight. — For  myself — I  shall  tarry 
yet  a  httle," 

Only  a  few  weeks,  and  all  sad  thoughts  were  crowded 
out  by  new  exuberance  of  love  and  life. 


XVII 

LILI 

Goethe's  introduction  to  Lili  Schonemann — Mutual  love — Diflference  in 
their  intellectual  and  social  surroundings — Goethe's  discomfort  in 
the  Sch5nemann  salon — Demoiselle  Delf ,  by  her  scheming,  brings 
about  an  unexpected  betrothal — Goethe  awakes  to  the  situation 
and  longs  to  be  free  again — The  Counts  Stolberg  and  Baron 
Haugwitz  in  Frankfort — Goethe  accompanies  them  on  a  journey 
to  Switzerland — The  boisterous  Storm-and-Stress  travellers — 
Goethe  visits  his  sister — She  urges  him  to  dissolve  his  engagement 
— The  journey  through  Switzerland — Lili  occupies  his  thought  and 
keeps  him  from  going  to  Italy — On  the  homeward  journey  Zim- 
mermann  shows  him  a  silhouette  of  Frau  von  Stein — Further 
intercourse  with  Lili — Her  relatives  and  his  father  oppose  the 
marriage — Goethe,  after  a  severe  struggle,  resolves  to  end  matters 
— He  accepts  an  invitation  to  Weimar — Embarrassing  incidents 
connected  with  his  departure. 

IT  was  probably  on  New  Year's  Day,  1775,  that  Goethe, 
at  the  suggestion  of  a  friend,  made  a  visit  to  the  home 
of  Frau  Schonemann,  nie  D'Orville.  Frau  Schone- 
mann, who  had  been  a  widow  for  twelve  years,  was  the 
owner  of  a  large  banking  business  on  the  Kornmarkt, 
and  her  family  consisted  of  four  sons  and  one  daughter, 
Elizabeth  (Lili),  at  that  time  in  the  middle  of  her 
seventeenth  year.  At  the  Schonemanns'  Goethe  met  a 
large  company  assembled  for  a  private  concert.  Very 
soon  his  attention  was  fixed  upon  the  graceful  figure  and 
the  beautiful,  soulful  face  of  the  daughter  of  the  house. 
She  sat  at  the  grand  piano  and  played  with  surpassing 
technique  and  charm.  "  I  stood  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
piano  in  order  to  be  near  enough  to  mark  her  figure  and 

2l6 


Xlll  2  I  7 

character;  she  had  something  childlike  in  her  bearing; 
the  movements  necessary  in  playing  were  unaffected  and 
Hght. 

"  After  finishing  the  sonata  she  stepped  to  the  end  of  the 
piano  in  front  of  me ;  we  greeted  each  other  without  further 
ado,  for  a  quartet  had  already  begun.  At  the  close  of  it  I 
stepped  somewhat  nearer  to  her  and  made  a  few  complai- 
sant remarks  about  the  pleasure  I  felt  that  the  beginning 
of  our  acquaintance  had  also  included  an  introduction  to 
her  talent.  She  knew  how  to  return  the  compliment  very 
politely,  retained  her  position  and  I  mine.  I  could  see  that 
she  was  looking  at  me  attentively  and  •  that  I  was  being 
observed  in  a  peculiar  way  by  the  company,  which  I  could 
very  well  put  up  with,  inasmuch  as  I  myself  had  something 
very  beautiful  to  look  at.  Meanwhile  we  scrutinised  each 
other,  and  I  will  not  deny  that  I  seemed  to  feel  an  attraction 
of  the  tenderest  kind.  The  moving  about  of  the  company 
and  the  music  hindered,  however,  any  closer  acquaintance 
that  evening.  But  I  must  confess  to  my  agreeable  sensa- 
tions, when,  at  parting,  the  mother  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  they  hoped  to  see  me  again  soon,  and  the 
daughter  seemed  to  second  the  request  with  a  certain 
friendhness." 

Goethe  did  not  fail  to  respond  to  the  invitation,  and 
before  he  was  fully  aware  a  strong  liking  for  Lili  had  taken 
possession  of  his  heart.  Lili,  in  turn,  felt  the  magic  charm 
of  the  poet's  personality.  It  was  not,  however,  the  first 
time  that  she  had  made  a  conquest  and  been  courted. 
Quite  early  in  life  admirers,  half  in  admiration  and  half 
from  calculation,  had  gathered  about  this  lovely  blond 
daughter  of  a  rich  family,  and  she  had  been  pleased  with  their 
gallantries  as  with  a  pretty  game.  But  in  the  moment 
when  Goethe  approached  her  a  deep  passion  awoke  in  her 
heart,  that  at  once  lifted  her  whole  being  above  her  former 
toying  nonchalance.  She  climg  to  the  great  personality 
of  her  lover  with  tender  devotion.  What  he  communicated 
to  her  in  the  way  of  higher  culture,  character,  seriousness, 
and  worldly  wisdom  she  gladly  received,  and  in  the  soil  of 


2i8  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

her  superior  qualities  of  heart  and  mind  it  grew  to  fairest 
flower.  Thus  she  became  the  creature  of  his  influence. 
But  the  more  she  became  so,  the  more  firmly  she  bound  her 
lover  to  her.  A  violent  love  fever,  unknown  since  the  days 
in  Wetzlar,  came  upon  him,  and  all  his  joys  and  sorrows,  all 
his  habits  and  inclinations  seemed  to  have  been  submerged 
in  this  one  passion. 

SBcg  ift  aM,  tuag  bit  licbtcft, 
SBeg,  tDorum  bu  bid)  bctrubtcft, 
SSeg  bcin  glei|  unb  beinc  dinli, 
^i) !  h)ie  famft  bu  mix  bogu  ? 

9leigcnber  ift  tnir  bt^  gru^ltngg  33Iute 
9lim  nic^t  auf  bcr  f^lur ; 
2Bo  hn,  (Sngel,  bift,  ift  Sieb'  unb  ©iitc, 
SSo  bu  bift,  9latur.* 

But  the  happiness  which  he  enjoyed  was  not  unalloyed. 
Such  completely  happy  hours  as  he  had  spent  by  the  side  of 
Lotte  and  Friederike  came  seldom  any  more.  Not  through 
the  fault  of  Lili,  who  was  as  noble,  true,  and  pure  as  either 
of  them  and  surpassed  them  both  in  intellectual  endow- 
ments. But  her  surroimdings  were  foreign  and  at  times 
even  odious  to  the  poet. 

He  was  accustomed  to  move  in  the  circles  of  scholars, 
artists,  clergymen,  and  officials,  where  he  found  a  congenial 
intellectual  atmosphere,  and  was  conscious  of  a  sympathetic 
appreciation  of  his  nature.  And  even  in  those  families 
whose  heads  had  not  been  anointed  with  academic  oil,  such 
as  the  Schonkopfs  and  the  Buffs,  he  had  felt  the  refreshing 

*  Gone  is  all  thy  former  love, 
Gone  what  sorrow's  source  did  prove, 
Gone  repose  and  toil's  delight, 
Oh,  what  brought  thee  to  this  plight? 

Not  more  charming  is  the  vernal  blow 
Now  upon  the  lea; 

Love  and  kindness  are  where  thou  dost  go, 
Nature  is  with  thee. 


LiLI 
(From  Heinemann's  Goethe) 


Xlli  219 

breath  of  warm-hearted,  free  humanity.  These  homes 
were,  at  the  same  time,  the  abiding-place  of  a  plain  sim- 
plicity in  the  external  things  of  life  and  of  a  spontaneity  in 
giving  and  receiving,  which  were  most  charming  to  the 
young  poet. 

How  completely  different  was  the  atmosphere  which 
surrounded  him  in  the  Schonemann  home!  aristocratic 
furnishings,  most  modish  dress,  social  restraint,  and  a  cool, 
calculating  realism,  which  valued  material  and  tangible 
things  above  all  else.  Here,  no  doubt,  he  could  be  honoured 
as  a  famous  man,  but  could  hardly  be  appreciated  as  a  poet 
and  human  being.  And  as  the  Schonemanns  and  their 
coterie  had  no  real  understanding  of  him,  so  had  he  still  less 
of  them.  The  tmcomfortable  feelings  which  arose  in  him  be- 
cause of  this  discord  were  intensified  by  the  burdens  laid 
upon  him  by  the  many  social  functions  in  the  Schonemann 
home.  He  who  liked  best  of  all  to  go  about  in  grey  beaver 
frock  coat  and  loosely  tied  brown  silk  neckerchief  was 
obliged  to  appear  here  in  elegant  and  ever- varied  dress,  so 
as  not  to  be  different  from  the  dandies,  whose  only  thought 
was  of  the  present;  he  who  felt  most  at  home  in  the  twi- 
light here  had  to  appear  in  the  full  blaze  of  a  hundred 
candles  beaming  from  ceiling  and  wall;  and  though  he 
would  have  liked  to  pour  out  the  fulness  of  his  heart  to  his 
loved  one  in  secret  he  was  obliged  to  bear  up  under  the 
burden  of  his  passion,  while  plodding  along  for  hours 
through  the  weary  waste  of  a  barren  salon  conversation. 
From  these  feelings  sprang  the  verses : 

3!$ariim  jie^ft  bu  m\6)  unloibcrftcf)(id) 
9t(^,  in  jenc  ^rad)t? 
3Sar  irf)  gitter  Sungc  nid)t  fo  felig 
Snbcr  6bcn9lad)t?    .     .     . 

2!rnutntc  ba  lion  uoflcn,  golbnen  <Stnnben 
Ungctnifc^tcr  i^nft, 

^^nnng^DoU  t)att'  ic^  bein  5BiIb  cmpfunbcn 
jlicf  in  meiner  SBriift. 


220  Zbc  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

S3in  ic^'^  nod),  ben  bit  bei  fo  Diel  Cic^tern 
Sin  bem  epicltifd)  ^dltft? 
Oft  fo  iincrtrn9lid)cn  ©efic^tcrn 
©egcnuberftcUft?* 

If  he,  nevertheless,  overcame  his  dishke  and  submitted 
to  all  the  conventionalities  imposed  by  the  family  and 
society,  this  is  a  proud  testimonial  to  young  Lili's  worth,  for 
at  other  times  he  followed  "the  customs  of  no  man,"  for 
which  reason  he  was  nicknamed  by  his  friends  the  Bear,  the 
Huron,  and  the  Indian.  She  was  to  him  the  rose  for  whose 
sake  he  endured  the  heath.  To  be  sure  he  saw  his  loved 
one  on  these  society  evenings  in  another  and  a  brilliant 
light,  and  uncomfortable  as  these  situations  were  to  him, 
still  he  would  not  for  a  great  deal  have  been  willing  to 
forego  the  joy  of  noting  Lili's  social  virtues  and  recognising 
that  she  was  qualified  for  broader  and  greater  circles.  And 
how  delicately  and  deftly  she  could  indicate  to  him  in  the 
midst  of  a  social  throng  that  her  thoughts  were  all  with 
him!  "Every  look  that  we  interchanged,  every  accom- 
panying smile  bespoke  a  noble  feeling  of  mutual  intelligence, 
and  I  was  astonished  at  the  mysterious,  innocent  imder- 
standing  which  arose  between  us  in  the  most  human  and 
most  natural  way." 

At  the  beginning  of  spring  Lili  went  to  Offenbach  to 
visit  her  Uncle  Bernard  and  the  D'Orvilles,  whose  villas, 
gardens,  and  terraces  offered  the  lovers  more  desirable  sur- 
roundings than  the  hated  city  salons.     Here  in  rural  free- 

*  Wherefore  drawest  me  against  my  will 
Into  thy  world  so  bright? 
Did  my  bosom  not  with  rapture  thrill 
In  the  lonesome  night? 

There  I  dreamed  of  many  a  golden  hour 
Of  joy  serene  and  blest; 
Felt  thine  image,  with  prophetic  power, 
Deep  within  my  breast. 

Am  I  still  the  same  'mid  scenes  so  gay 
With  light-bedazzled  eyes — 
I,  whom  oft  thou  dost  invite  to  play 
With  those  I  so  despise? 


%m  22  1 

dom,  where  nobody  deprived  the  poet  of  Lili's  company, 
where  no  mists  obscured  her  bright  charms,  his  love  grew 
to  even  greater  warmth.  * '  Yes,  Aunt, ' '  he  wrote  to  Johanna 
Fahlmer  early  in  April,  "she  was  as  beautiful  as  an  angel 
.  and  heavens,  how  much  her  beauty  is  surpassed  by 
her  goodness!"  He  passes  blissful  days  by  her  side.  "It 
was  a  state  of  which  it  is  written,  '  I  sleep,  but  my  heart 
watches ;'  the  hours  of  light  and  the  hours  of  darkness  were 
alike ;  the  light  of  day  could  not  outshine  the  light  of  love, 
and  the  glow  of  passion  changed  the  night  into  the  clearest 
day."  He  began  to  believe  that  this  time  his  wandering 
heart  had  found  a  resting-place.  "  It  looks  as  if  the  threads 
by  which  my  fate  hangs,  and  which  I  have  so  long  been 
twisting  and  untwisting  in  regular  rotation,  would  finally 
unite"  (to  Herder,  March  25,  1775). 

The  Easter  fair  came  in  the  middle  of  April  and  brought 
Demoiselle  Delf  from  Heidelberg,  an  energetic  business 
woman,  who  for  years  had  been  a  friend  of  the  Schone- 
manns  and  had  known  and  loved  Lili  from  her  youth.  As 
she  had  long  seen  through  the  situation  and  was  convinced 
that  the  lovers  were  suited  for  one  another,  and  that  it  was 
proper  to  bring  the  romantic  love-making  to  a  practical 
conclusion,  she  set  to  work,  negotiated  with  Goethe's 
parents  and  Lili's  mother,  and  after  she  had  received  their 
consent,  came  into  the  room  one  evening  to  Goethe  and 
Lili  and  said:  "Join  hands!"  "  I  was  standing  in  front  of 
Lili,"  Goethe  narrates,  "and  held  out  my  hand;  she,  not 
indeed  hesitatingly,  but  still  slowly,  laid  hers  in  mine. 
After  a  long,  deep  breath  we  fell  with  great  emotion  into 
each  other's  arms.  ...  If  my  loved  one  had  before 
seemed  to  me  beautiful,  graceful,  attractive,  she  now  ap- 
peared a  worthy  and  superior  being.  She  was,  so  to  speak, 
a  double  person;  her  grace  and  loveliness  were  now  mine, 
— that  I  felt  as  before;  but  her  dignity  of  character,  her 
self-reliance,  her  trustworthiness  in  every  way  remained 
her  own.  I  beheld  this,  I  understood  it  and  rejoiced  in  it  as 
in  a  capital  the  interest  of  which  I  should  share  with  her 
as  long  as  I  lived."     Thus  the  bond  was  sealed. 


2  22  tibe  %\fe  of  (Boetbe 

Solemnly  and  yet  roguishly  the  -^ey-haired  poet  adds 
to  his  narrative:  "It  was  a  strange  decree  of  overruling 
Providence,  that  in  the  course  of  my  singular  life  I,  too, 
should  experience  the  feelings  of  one  who  is  betrothed." 
But  the  pleasant,  tender,  satisfied  feelings  which  he  had  in 
mind  vanished  with  surprising  swiftness.  Hardly  had  the 
ring  bound  him  when  he  would  have  liked  to  file  it  off. 
Events  took  the  same  course  here  as  in  the  case  of  Frieder- 
ike.  Only  the  greater  the  danger  the  harder  the  struggle. 
"  I  should  be  a  fool,"  he  had  exclaimed  a  few  weeks  before 
the  betrothal,  in  Stella,  under  the  mask  of  Fernando,  "  to 
allow  myself  to  be  fettered.  This  condition  [wedlock] 
stifles  all  my  powers ;  this  condition  robs  my  soul  of  all  its 
courage:  it  shuts  me  in.  I  must  get  out  into  the  free 
world,"  The  storm  of  his  desire  for  hberty  seizes  his  ship 
of  life  and  casts  it  away  from  the  haven  of  domestic  happi- 
ness, to  which  it  had  just  come  near,  and  out  again  into 
the  wide  sea  (to  Herder,  May,  1775).  "I  must  get  out 
into  the  free  world,"  was  his  first  clear  thought  after  the 
betrothal. 

Then,  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  there  came  to  his  home 
about  the  middle  of  May,  the  fiery  disciples  of  the  Gottinger 
Hain,  the  two  counts.  Christian  and  Friedrich  Stolberg,  on 
their  way  to  Switzerland.  They  were  joined  in  Frankfort 
by  their  friend.  Baron  Kurt  von  Haugwitz,  later  Prussian 
minister,  all  of  them  enthusiastic  admirers  of  Goethe.  These 
companions,  all  overflowing  with  youthful  spirits  and 
idealism,  spent  happy  hours  of  exalted  feeling  with  Goethe ; 
and  Fritz  Stolberg,  at  that  time  more  or  less  revolutionary, 
recited  some  fearful  strophes  in  which  he  cooled  his  hatred 
of  tyrants  in  the  blood  of  tyrants.  Frau  Goethe,  who  was 
call  Frau  Aja,  after  the  mother  in  the  novel  Die  vier  Hai- 
monskinder,  was  astonished  at  the  terrible  outbursts  of 
anger  over  the  tyrants.  "  She  had  scarcely  ever  heard  of 
tyrants,"  her  own  son  narrates  jokingly;  "she  only  re- 
membered that  she  had  seen  in  Gottfried's  Chronicles  pic- 
tures of  such  inhuman  creatures.  And  in  order  to  give  a 
harmless  turn  to  the  raging  hatred  of  tyrants,  she  brought 


%\l\  223 

tip  the  oldest  wines  from  the  cellar  and  set  them  on  the 
table,  with  the  emphatic  admonition ;  '  Here  is  the  true 
blood  of  tyrants,  enjoy  it,  but  leave  all  murderous  thoughts 
outside  my  house.'  " 

It  was  not  difficult  for  the  young  noblemen  to  persuade 
Goethe  to  travel  with  them.  His  father  was  also  greatly 
in  favour  of  his  going,  as  he  hoped  in  this  way  to  get  his  son 
to  make  the  Italian  journey  ^i  which  still  remained  fixed 
in  the  program  of  his  education.  Goethe  parted  from  LiH 
without  saying  good-bye,  but  made  some  allusion  to  his  go- 
ing. He  considered  the  journey  an  experiment  to  see 
whether  he  could  do  without  her.  Is  it  possible  that  she 
may  have  understood  his  allusions,  may  have  had  a 
suspicion  that  her  lover,  newly  betrothed  to  her  and  glow- 
ing with  passion  would  separate  himself  from  her  for  many 
weeks  ? 

When  the  four  travelling  companions  arrived  in  Darm- 
stadt, Merck  was  greatly  displeased  that  Goethe  had  joined 
company  with  these  wild  apostles  of  nature.  He  scolded 
him  for  his  indomitable  good  nature,  his  endless  toleration 
of  others'  peculiarities,  saying  it  was  stupid,  and  he  would 
not  remain  with  them  long.  It  was  indeed  a  boisterous 
Storm-and-Stress  company,  and  Goethe  was  not  the  tamest. 
The  elder  Stolberg  calls  him  "a  wild,  uncontrollable,  but 
very,  very  good  fellow."  They  had  all  four  set  out  from 
Frankfort  in  Werther  costume;  in  Darmstadt  they  had 
gone  bathing  in  the  open  without  anything  to  hide  their 
nakedness;  in  Mannheim,  after  drinking  to  the  health  of 
Fritz  Stolberg's  sweetheart,  they  had  dashed  their  wine- 
glasses against  the  wall;  and  this  was  the  style  they  kept 
up.  "  If  you  could  see  our  conduct  on  this  journey,  vou 
would  observe  that  we  are  always  in  such  high  spirits," 
writes  Fritz  Stolberg  in  the  letter  just  mentioned.  From 
Mannheim  the  young  men  went  via  Karlsruhe,  where  Goethe 
passed  a  few  pleasant  days  with  Karl  August,  the  crown 
prince  of  Weimar,  and  his  fiancee,  the  beautiful  Luise  von 
Hesse-Darmstadt,  to  Strasburg,  rich  in  memories  of  the 
past.     Here  Goethe  saw  again  the  good  old  friend  of  his 


224  tTbe  Xife  of  (Soetbe 

heart,  Salzmann;  here  in  his  innocence  he  cordially  em- 
braced Lenz,  who  in  the  intervening  years  had  plotted 
many  an  intrigue  against  him ;  here  he  also  met  the  princes 
of  Meiningen,  with  whom  he  had  previously  become  ac- 
quainted on  their  visit  in  Frankfort;  beside  these,  a  wide 
circle  of  old  acquaintances  and  friends,  who  made  it  hard 
for  him  to  leave  the  dear  city.  After  a  stay  of  five  days  he 
proceeded  to  Emmendingen  to  visit  his  sister,  who  was 
longingly  awaiting  him,  while  his  companions  remained  in 
Strasburg.52  Since  her  marriage  in  November,  1773, 
brother  and  sister  had  not  seen  each  other.  For  the  first 
time  he  was  to  see  her  in  her  home  surroundings.  His 
heart  was  heavy.  He  knew  that  she  was  not  happy,  and 
he  did  not  know  how  to  help  her.  Neither  she  nor  her 
husband  could  be  justly  reproached  for  the  unsatisfactory 
condition.  Cornelia  had  been  accustomed  to  a  varied  and 
cultured  society,  to  a  constant  stream  of  refined,  intellectual 
enjoyments,  and  to  an  uninterrupted,  refreshing,  sympa- 
thetic intercourse  with  her  brother ;  and  now  she  was  bound 
to  a  husband  whose  excellence  she  could  not  but  honour, 
whose  zeal  for  his  profession  left  her  much  alone,  and  whose 
grave  and  severe  manner  discouraged  rather  than  pro- 
moted frankness  in  her.  And,  besides,  there  prevailed  in 
the  little  out-of-the-way  place  an  atmosphere  of  tedious 
monotony.  Physical  ailments  helped  to  make  everything 
seem  to  her  more  dreary  than  it  really  was.  Consequently 
she  spoke  very  unfavourably  of  her  brother's  engagement. 
She  thought  that  Lili,  too,  with  the  difference  of  natures  and 
habits  of  the  two  families,  would  find  no  happiness  in 
married  life  and  that  it  was  accordingly  her  brother's  duty 
to  preserve  her  and  himself  from  such  ill  fortune.  Her 
urgent  appeal  fell  on  unwilling  ears.  For,  although  Goethe 
had  undertaken  the  journey  in  order  gradually  to  effect  his 
release  from  Lili,  yet  he  had  begun  to  feel  at  the  first  step 
how  vain  it  is  for  love  to  flee  from  love.  On  the  last  day 
of  his  visit  in  Emmendingen,  on  the  5th  of  June,  he  writes 
to  Johanna  Fahlmer:  "  I  still  feel  that  I  have  failed  in  the 
chief  purpose  of  my  journey  and  when  I  return  it  will  be 


%m  225 

worse  with  'the  bear'  than  before,"  Thus  he  goes  on 
losing  himself  in  the  world,  wends  his  way  through  the 
Black  Forest  to  SchafThausen,  thence  to  Zurich,  where  he 
again  joins  the  Stolbergs  and  Haugwitz.  He  spends  a  week 
in  Zurich,  enjoys  his  intercourse  with  Lavater,  discusses 
with  him  the  continuation  of  his  Physiognomische  Frag- 
mente,  and  delights  in  the  wonderful  landscape  about  the 
city.  He  was  greatly  rejoiced  over  his  personal  acquaint- 
ance with  Pfenninger,  Lavater's  warm-hearted  colleague, 
with  whom  he  had  already  had  some  correspondence,  and 
over  the  arrival  of  two  young  Frankfort  friends,  Passavant, 
a  theologian,  and  Kayser,  a  musician.  The  way  was  pre- 
pared for  a  cordial  friendship  with  the  intellectually  pro- 
minent Frau  Babe  Schulthess,  but  his  visits  with  vain  old 
Bodmer  led  to  nothing  beyond  cool  salutations. 

In  the  assembled  group  of  friends  liberty,  friendship,  love, 
poetry,  wine,  and  nature  produced  a  wave  of  jubilation,  the 
height  of  which  we  can  measure  by  the  pages  of  Goethe's 
diary.  On  an  excursion  of  the  whole  company  on  Lake 
Zurich  he  made  the  entry  under  the  date  of  June  1 5th : 

£)^ne  3Bein  fann'^  im?  auf  grben 
9limmcr  trie  breilnmbcrt  [3aiicn]  merben  ; 
O^ne  SScin  unb  obne  SBcibcr 
§ol  ber  Scitfel  iin[re  Seiber.* 

After  this  another  member  teased  him  in  these  insipid  lines : 

®em  5SoIf,  bcm  tu'  id)  gfcl  bo^ren, 
^oburd)  ift  cr  gar  bnB  gefcfioren; 
®a  filt  er  nun,  bae  arnte  3d}af, 
Unb  flc^t  erbarmung  Don  bcm  ©raf.f 

*  We  were  never,  but  for  wine, 

Merry  as  three  hundred  swine; 

No  more  wine,  no  women  more, 

Devil  take  us,  we  implore! 
t  A  merry  joke  on  Wolf  I  played 

And  most  consummately  him  flayed; 

The  wretched  sheep  must  now  entreat 

Compassion  at  the  County's  feet. 

VOL.  I. — IS. 


2  26  TOe  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

There  are  seven  other  stanzas  on  these  pages  in  which 
the  jolly  companions  spin  out  their  burlesque  fancies  to 
given  rhymes.  But  in  the  midst  of  their  exuberant  pranks 
the  poet  falls  into  sweet  dreams  and  memories.  The  image 
of  fair  Lili  arises  before  him : 

5I119',  mein  Slug',  voa^  finfft  bit  nieber, 
©olbne  2^raume,  fommt  i^r  mieber  ?  * 

He  tries  to  banish  her  spirit : 

SBeg  bii  Zxanm,  fo  ©olb  bii  bift, 
§ier  and)  2kb  unb  Scbcn  ift.  t 

But  nothing  can  drive  the  dream  away.  The  barque 
lands  at  Richterswyl,  and  he  goes  with  the  wild  band  to 
Einsiedeln.^^  From  the  summit  on  the  southern  shore  of 
Lake  Zurich  he  casts  his  eyes  once  more  over  the  green 
lake,  the  dark  forests,  the  shimmering  villages,  and  the 
silvery  Alpine  peaks.  His  eye  is  intoxicated,  but  from 
his  heart  arises  this  sigh : 

SBenn  icf),  liebe  2ili,  bid^  nic^t  liebte, 
SKelc^e  2Bonnc  gab'  mir  bicjer  33licf  ! 
Unb  toij,  rocnn  id),  i^ili,  tii}  nic^t  liebte, 
SBor',  roas  rodr'  mein  ©lucf  ?  I 

In  a  pleasant  humour  he  wrote  above  these  verses  in  his 
diary  the  title:  "View  of  the  Lake  from  the  Mountain. 
See  the  private  archives  of  the  poet  under  the  letter  L." 

The  friends  reached  the  abbey  of  Einsiedeln  in  good 
time,  and  the  poet's  eye  was  especially  captivated  by  a 
most  artistically  wrought  little  serrated  crown  in  the 
treasure  chamber.     He  begged  permission  to  pick  up  the 

*  Eye,  mine  eye,  why  not  behold? 

Come  ye  back,  ye  dreams  of  gold? 
t  Out,  thou  dream!    though  gold  thou  be; 

Here  is  love  and  life  for  me. 
t  Dearest  Lili,  if  I  did  not  love  thee, 

Oh,  what  rapture  in  a  scene  like  this  I 

Yet,  sweet  Lili,  if  I  did  not  love  thee. 

What,  what  were  my  bliss? 


%\\\  227 

little  crown,  and  as  he  took  it  and  held  it  reverently  in  his 
hand  he  could  not  help  thinking  that  he  should  like  to 
press  it  upon  Lili's  bright,  glittering  locks,  lead  her  before  a 
mirror,  and  witness  her  joy  in  her  appearance  and  in  the 
happiness  which  she  spread  about  her.  In  Einsiedeln  he 
parted  from  the  boisterous  company.  His  only  companion 
now  was  quiet,  affectionate  Passavant. 

The  two  travelled  over  the  toilsome  roads  past  the 
slender,  craggy  twin  peaks  of  the  Mythenstocke  to  Schwyz. 
Thence  they  made  their  way  to  the  Rigi,  from  the  summit  of 
which  they  could  see  only  isolated  spots  of  the  sun-lit  earth 
beneath,  through  the  clefts  and  rents  in  the  ever-rolling 
heaps  of  cloud.  They  descended  to  Vitznau,  rowed  across 
the  magnificent  rock-bound  lake  to  Fliielen,  and  went  on  to 
Altdorf,  where  they  spent  the  night.  The  scenery  thus 
far  had  so  impressed  Goethe  that  when  he  directed  a  few 
lines  to  Lotte  from  Altdorf,  he  "could  tell  nothing,  describe 
nothing."  And  he  had  not  yet  seen  the  grandest  sight,  the 
St.  Gothard,  which  the  imagination  of  the  time  enveloped 
with  wild,  mystic  romance.  Hence  he  closed  his  letter 
with:  "Altdorf,  three  hours  from  St.  Gothard,  which  we 
shall  ascend  to-morrow."  He  underestimated  the  distance. 
On  the  following  day  the  friends  went  only  as  far  as  Wasen. 
Thence  they  climbed  through  the  valley,  which  seemed  to 
grow  ever  grander  and  more  awe-inspiring,  to  Goschenen, 
then  through  the  narrow,  dark,  rocky  gorge  of  the  Scholl- 
enen,  where  the  scenery  became  more  and  more  stupendous 
and  wild,  over  the  Teufelsbriicke  and  through  the  Umer 
Loch  to  Andermatt,  whose  lovely  situation  in  the  broad 
green  valley  filled  Goethe  with  joyful  astonishment.  After 
a  short  rest  they  went  on  up.  Soon  the  green  valley  dis- 
appeared, and  through  barren  boulders  the  sumpter  path 
wound  its  way  up  through  the  clouds.  The  snow  came 
near;  storm  clouds  and  fitful  gusts,  together  with  roaring 
waterfalls,  heightened  the  horror  of  the  solitude.  "  Barren 
as  in  the  Valley  of  Death — strewn  with  bleaching  bones. 
This  may  be  called  the  Valley  of  Dragons."  Such  was 
Goethe's  note,  mingling  visions  with  his  actual  impressions. 


228  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

In  the  diary  sketches  we  can  already  recognise  the  outlines 
of  Mignon's  description  of  the  way  over  the  Alps.  Little 
strips  of  lakes  announced  the  summit  of  the  pass;  the 
Hospice,  looming  up  out  of  the  mist,  assured  them  that 
they  had  reached  the  goal.  Early  the  next  morning — it 
was  the  2  2d  of  June — Goethe  hastened  a  little  distance 
down  the  road  that  led  to  Italy,  in  order  to  sketch  the 
landscape.  Passavant  urged  him  to  follow  the  road  on  to 
Italy,  unrolling  before  him  a  fervid  picture  of  all  the  beau- 
ties that  awaited  them  there.  While  he  was  in  Zurich 
Goethe  had  thought  of  doing  so.  But  Lili  had  drawn  him 
back  more  and  more  powerfully  every  day.  The  next  day 
was  her  birthday ;  and  should  it  see  him  going  farther  and 
farther  away  from  her?  He  was  overcome  with  emotion. 
A  little  golden  heart  that  he  had  received  from  her  in  one  of 
their  happiest  hours  still  hung  warm  with  love  about  his 
neck.  He  grasps  it,  kisses  it,  and  we  can  feel  his  deep 
emotion  in  the  touching  stanzas:  "Token  thou  of  joys 
for  ever  gone,"  etc.  He  arises  quickly  and  hurries  back  to 
the  summit,  as  if  he  were  in  danger  of  being  dragged  on 
down  by  his  friend.  They  retrace  their  steps  as  far  as 
Vitznau.  Then  they  go  via  Kiissnacht  and  Zug  to  Zurich, 
where  Goethe  devotes  himself  again  chiefly  to  Lavater, 
whose  Physiognomische  Fragmente  offer  inexhaustible  ma- 
terial for  discussion.  After  about  ten  days  he  starts  home 
full  of  the  extraordinary  impressions  he  has  received,  but 
without  any  enthusiasm  for  Swiss  liberty,^*  which  in  the 
minds  of  German  youths,  his  own  friends  not  excepted, 
ordinarily  formed  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  sentiment 
connected  with  a  Swiss  journey.  He  had  sought  in  vain 
for  this  liberty.  The  return  home  was  via  Basel,  Strasburg, 
and  Darmstadt.  In  Strasburg  he  makes  his  third  pilgrim- 
age to  the  great  cathedral,  which  moves  him  to  a  prayer 
of  confession,  praise,  and  worship.  The  solemn  psalm  con- 
tains some  wonderful  strains  of  sublime  pictures  of  the  Alps 
and  love  of  Lili.  "  How  often  has  the  mist  rolled  away 
from  my  eyes  and  yet  thou  hast  been  steadfast  in  my  heart, 
all-pervading  love!     .     .     .     Thou  [the  cathedral]  art  one 


Ml  229 

and  living,  conceived  and  developed  to  maturity,  not  a  con- 
glomerate of  patchwork.  In  thy  presence,  as  in  the  presence 
of  the  foaming,  rushing  falls  of  the  mighty  Rhine,  as  in  the 
presence  of  the  gleaming  snow  crown  of  the  eternal  Alps,  as 
in  the  presence  of  the  serene  expanse  of  the  lake,  and  thy 
cloud-enveloped  rocks  and  barren  valleys,  grey  Got  hard,  as 
in  the  presence  of  every  great  thought  of  the  creation,  there 
is  aroused  to  action  whatever  of  creative  power  there  is  in 
the  soul.  It  wells  up  in  poetry  and  in  straggling  lines 
stammers  out  worship  to  the  Creator,  everlasting  life,  com- 
prehensive, inextinguishable  apprehension  of  Him,  who  is 
and  was  and  ever  shall  be."  He  is  happy  to  look  down 
from  the  height  "toward  his  fatherland,  toward  his  love." 

In  Strasburg,  on  his  return,  Goethe  became  acquainted 
with  the  highly  honoured  Hanoverian  court  physician, 
Zimmermann,  author  of  Von  der  Einsamkeit.  Zimmer- 
mann  showed  him  some  silhouettes,  among  others  that  of 
Charlotte  von  Stein,  the  wife  of  the  Weimar  Grand  Master 
of  the  Horse.  Goethe  examined  it  with  interest  and  wrote 
these  words  beneath  it :  "It  would  be  a  glorious  sight  to 
see  how  the  world  is  mirrored  in  this  soul.  She  sees  the 
world  as  it  is  and  yet  through  the  medium  of  love."  In 
Darmstadt  Goethe  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Herder  and 
his  wife.  He  finished  his  journey  in  their  company,  ar- 
riving in  his  native  city  on  the  2 2d  of  July. 

"  In  vain  did  I  travel  about  three  months  in  the  open 
air,"  he  exclaimed  a  few  days  after  his  return.  His  longing 
for  Lili  had  not  been  diminished  by  the  separation, — in- 
creased rather.  He  found  her  more  beautiful,  more  mature, 
more  profound.  All  resolution  to  give  her  up  melted  away 
at  the  sight  of  her.  He  was  enraged  at  himself  that  he 
could  not  overcome  his  love.  "I  am  stranded  again  and 
would  like  to  box  myself  on  the  ear  a  thousand  times  that 
I  did  not  go  to  the  devil  while  I  was  afloat,"  he  wrote  to 
Merck  early  in  August.  "  I  can  not  bear  it  here  long,  I  must 
get  away  again,"  he  wrote  about  the  same  time  to  Countess 
Auguste  Stolberg,  who,  although  he  had  never  seen  her, 
became  through  her  brothers  the  confidante  of  his  love 


230  Zbc  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

sorrows.  But  the  power  of  his  love  was  so  great  that 
instead  of  keeping  away  from  Lili  he  sought  her  out  as 
much  as  possible.  She  was  in  Offenbach  again,  as  in  the 
spring.  He  followed  her  thither  and  took  lodgings  with 
his  friend  Andre.  Happy  moments  followed,  but  also  very 
sorrowful  ones,  when  he  cursed  himself  and  his  fate,  and 
became  a  burden  to  himself  and  Lili.  "What  vexation!" 
he  wrote  in  the  same  letter  to  Auguste  Stolberg.  "  Oh,  that 
I  could  tell  you  all;  here  in  the  room  of  the  girl  who  is 
making  me  unhappy  without  being  to  blame,  with  the  soul 
of  an  angel,  whose  serene  days  I  am  clouding, — I!" 

Lili's  suffering  was  doubled  and  trebled.  While,  on  the 
one  hand,  her  lover  offended  her  by  his  vacillating  between 
love,  indifference,  and  defiance,  on  the  other  hand,  her 
relatives  urged  her  to  dissolve  the  betrothal.  After  Goethe's 
strikingly  long  absence,  her  family  had  lost  all  faith  in  the 
seriousness  of  his  intentions.  Furthermore,  it  was  very 
uncertain  what  kind  of  a  future  lay  before  this  roving 
poetic  genius,  and  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  in  common 
between  the  two  families.  The  difference  in  religion  (Re- 
formed and  Lutheran)  was  for  Frankfort  a  very  broad  line 
of  separation.  Besides,  the  old  Councillor  was  not  satisfied 
with  Lili,  whom  he  considered  a  fashionable  society  woman. 
Finally,  talebearers  had  played  a  busy  part  and  magnified 
the  incompatibilities  as  much  as  possible.  Despite  all  this 
Lili  did  not  lose  hope.  She  declared  with  great  determina- 
tion, that,  if  the  objections  could  not  be  removed  at  home, 
she  was  ready  to  go  with  her  lover  to  America.  Goethe 
added  with  admiration  that  she  would  have  had  the  strength 
to  overcome  every  obstacle.  But  was  he  in  any  way  in- 
clined to  profit  by  this  strength?  Was  not  he  himself  the 
greatest  and  most  insurmountable  hindrance?  And  clearly 
as  he  recognises  this,  just  so  little  does  he  feel  capable  of 
severing  at  once  the  bond  which  binds  him  to  her.  He 
allows  himself  to  drift  on  and  prolongs  the  situation  without 
speaking  a  decisive  word. 

On  the  loth  of  September,  at  the  wedding  of  his  friend, 
Pastor   Ewald,   in   Offenbach,   Goethe  experienced  an  ex- 


Xill  231 

alted  and  beautiful  moment  by  the  side  of  his  loved  one, 
even  if  his  joy  was  mingled  with  the  painful  anticipation  of 
the  approaching  and  inevitable  separation.  "  I  was  in  the 
most  cruelly,  solemnly  sweet  situation  in  all  my  life,"  he 
wrote  to  Auguste  Stolberg.  "Through  the  glowing  tears  of 
love  I  gazed  on  the  moon,  and  the  world,  and  everything 
about  me  was  soulful."  The  following  day  was  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Michaelmas  fair.  It  brought  a  large  number 
of  business  friends  to  the  Schonemann  house.  Lili  was 
again  obliged  to  perform  the  polite  and  social  duties  in  the 
parlours  of  her  home,  and  Goethe  saw  his  graceful,  lovely 
fiancee  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  cooing  strangers  whom  he 
abhorred.  In  Lilis  Park  he  has  given  us  an  exaggerated 
picture  of  such  situations,  portrayed  in  passionate  Storm- 
and-Stress  style.  Aided  by  these  outward  circumstances, 
and  admonished  by  the  bloody  head  of  Egmont,  who  was 
engaging  his  thought  at  that  time  (cf.  Chap.  23),  he  gathers 
the  strength  to  resist  Lili's  noble  and  magical  personality. 
Reason  gains  the  ascendency  over  passion.  Now  and  then 
lightning  flames  still  flash  across  his  soul,  but  on  the  19th 
of  September — by  chance  we  know  the  exact  day — the 
storm  has  spent  its  rage.  He  has  conquered  himself.  At 
the  end  of  a  long  diary-like  letter  extending  from  the  14th 
to  the  19th  of  September,  in  which  are  vividly  reflected 
the  zigzag  impulses  of  his  heart,  he  writes  in  a  serious 
mood  to  the  Countess  Stolberg:  "  O,  Gustchen,  when  I 
look  back  over  this  sheet.  What  a  Hfe!  Shall  I  con- 
tinue or  end  for  ever  with  this  one?  And  yet,  dearest, 
when  I  again  feel,  that  in  the  midst  of  nothingness  my 
heart  is  sloughing  so  many  skins,  that  the  convulsions  of 
my  fooHsh  httle  composition  are  diminishing,  my  view  of  the 
world  becoming  more  serene,  my  intercourse  with  people 
more  self-possessed,  lasting,  and  extensive,  and  yet  my  in- 
most being  ever  remains  solely  devoted  to  sacred  love, 
which  gradually  throws  off  all  foreign  elements  by  virtue 
of  the  spirit  of  purity,  which  is  love,  and  will  finally  become 
pure  as  gold, — then  I  just  let  things  take  their  course. 
Perhaps  I  deceive  myself.     And  thank  God!     Good-night. 


232  Z\)c  %\tc  of  6octbe 

Adieu.  Amen."  On  the  following  day  he  spoke  but 
seven  words  to  Lili.  They  were  his  farewell.  The  ring 
with  which  he  had  fettered  himself  was  broken. 

Fate  made  it  easier  than  it  otherwise  would  have  been 
for  the  poet  to  preserve  the  equilibrium  of  his  soul  toward 
Lili.  At  the  same  time  that  he  had  renounced  her,  Karl 
August  of  Saxe-Weimar,  now  the  ruHng  duke,  arrived  in 
Frankfort.  On  his  journey  to  Paris  the  preceding  year  he 
had  fallen  in  love  twice:  with  Princess  Luise  of  Hesse- 
Darmstadt,  and  with  Goethe.  He  now  planned  to  take 
both  home  with  him.  He  received  Goethe's  promise  to 
follow  him  to  Weimar  as  soon  as  he  had  returned  thither 
with  his  young  wife;  and  Goethe,  who  looked  upon  the 
invitation,  coming  at  this  particular  time,  as  an  overruling 
of  a  higher  power,  was  glad  to  consent.  A  flight  to  Weimar 
might  mean  more  to  him  than  a  mere  withdrawal  from 
Lili's  magic  circle. 

On  the  1 2th  of  October  Karl  August,  with  his  young 
wife,  passed  through  Frankfort  on  his  return.  He  renewed 
his  invitation,  and  Goethe  was  to  hold  himself  in  readiness 
to  set  out  for  Weimar  with  Chamberlain  von  Kalb,  who 
would  follow  in  a  few  days  with  a  new  carriage.  Goethe 
made  all  his  preparations,  but  day  after  day  passed  without 
the  arrival  of  the  chamberlain  or  any  news  to  explain  his 
failure  to  appear.  As  Goethe  had  taken  leave  of  everybody 
and  did  not  care  to  appear  again  in  pubHc,  he  stayed  in  the 
house  and  left  his  acquaintances  in  the  belief  that  he  had 
already  departed.  But  when  he  had  endured  the  voluntary 
imprisonment  for  more  than  a  week,  working  constantly 
at  Egmont,  the  isolation  from  the  world  began  to  be  burden- 
some to  him  and  he  wrapped  himself  in  a  large  mantle 
and  went  out  in  the  evening  for  a  walk  through  the  streets. 
He  could  not  refrain  from  passing  by  Lili's  house.  He 
stepped  to  the  window;  the  curtains  were  down,  and  he 
heard  her  at  the  piano  singing  his  song,  "  Wherefore  drawest 
me  against  my  will?"  "  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  she 
sang  it  with  more  expression  than  ever;  I  could  hear  it 
plainly,  word  for  word ;  I  had  pressed  my  ear  as  close  as  the 


mil  233 

convex  grating  would  allow.  After  she  had  finished  the 
song,  I  saw  by  the  shadow  that  fell  on  the  curtains  that  she 
had  gotten  up.  She  walked  back  and  forth,  but  I  tried  in 
vain  to  catch  the  outline  of  her  lovely  form  through  the 
heavy  curtains.  Only  the  firm  resolution  to  depart,  not 
to  burden  her  by  my  presence,  and  really  to  renounce  her, 
as  well  as  the  thought  of  what  a  strange  sensation  my  re- 
appearance would  be  sure  to  make,  could  determine  me  to 
leave  her  presence  so  dear  to  me."  A  few  more  days 
passed ;  the  end  of  the  month  had  come,  and  as  still  there 
was  no  news  from  Herr  von  Kalb,  Goethe's  father  was 
triumphant.  He  said  that  he  had  always  insisted  that  it 
was  not  well  to  eat  cherries  with  great  lords,*  and  now  his 
son  could  see  how  he  himself  had  been  made  a  fool  of ;  that 
the  invitation,  the  story  about  the  cavalier  left  behind  with 
the  new  carriage,  was  nothing  but  a  merry  court  joke  at  his 
expense.  But  seeing  that  he  had  taken  leave  of  his  friends, 
and  his  trunk  was  packed,  he  might  now  carry  out  the  oft 
postponed  journey  to  Italy.  After  some  hesitation  Goethe 
accepted  his  father's  proposal,  and  early  in  the  morning  of 
October  30th  he  set  off  toward  the  south.  "  On  the 
Kommarkt"  (where  Lili  resided),  we  read  in  his  diary,  "  the 
plumber's  boy  was  noisily  straightening  up  his  shop  and 
greeted  the  neighbour's  maid  out  in  the  early  morning  rain ; 
this  greeting  was  in  a  manner  prophetic  of  the  coming  day. 
Ah,  thought  I,  if  only —  No,  I  said,  there  once  was  a 
time  when  I —  Whoever  has  such  memories  should  en\'y 
nobody.  Lili,  adieu,  Lili,  for  the  second  time,  adieu!" 
He  rolled  along  the  Bergstrasse  to  Heidelberg,  where  he 
willingly  permitted  Fraulein  Delf  to  detain  him  for  a  few 
days  as  her  guest.  For  he  still  believed  that  the  Weimar 
riddle  would  be  solved  and  his  return  be  made  possible. 
Besides   Fraulein   Delf   had   introduced   him  into   a  very 

*  The  reason  ascribed  by  the  proverb,  which  occurs  in  several 
languages,  is  that  the  great  lords  throw  the  seeds  (or  stems)  into  the 
faces  of  their  inferiors.  Bohn,  Handbook  of  Proverbs,  p.  78  :  "Those 
that  eat  cherries  with  great  persons,  shall  have  their  eyes  sprinted  (?) 
out  with  the  stones."  See  also  Borchardt,  Sprichwortliche  Redensarten, 
p.  269. — C. 


234  ^be  life  of  (Boetbe 

pleasant  family  (probably  Privy  Councillor  Wrede's),  where 
there  was  a  daughter  who  resembled  Friederike.  Fraulein 
Delf  was  a  zealous  matchmaker,  and  hardly  had  she  noticed 
a  slight  attraction  between  the  two  young  people  when  she 
immediately  explained  to  Goethe  with  great  emphasis  how 
promising  the  outlook  was  for  him  by  such  a  union  to  gain 
entrance  into  the  service  of  the  Palatinate.  Fraulein  Delf 
had  developed  her  plans  to  him  till  late  in  the  night.  Not 
long  after  they  had  separated  the  horn  of  a  postilion  waked 
him  out  of  sleep.  A  courier  from  Frankfort  stopped  before 
the  house  with  a  letter  from  Chamberlain  von  Kalb,  ex- 
plaining everything,  and  begging  Goethe  to  return  and  ac- 
company him  to  Weimar.  Alluring  as  the  picture  was 
that  Italy  had  aroused  in  his  imagination,  a  low  but  com- 
manding voice  within  ordered  him  northward.  Fraulein 
Delf  was  quite  excited  over  this  sudden  turn.  She  stormed 
Goethe  with  a  hundred  objections,  even  when  the  postilion 
was  already  before  the  door  prepared  to  take  him  back  to 
Frankfort,  When  she  still  refused  to  let  him  go  he  finally 
silenced  her  with  the  passionately  uttered  words  of  Egmont : 
"Child!  child!  no  more!  As  if  lashed  by  invisible  spirits 
the  fiery  steeds  of  time  are  running  away  with  the  light 
chariot  of  our  fate  and  there  is  nothing  left  for  us  but  to 
muster  our  courage,  hold  fast  the  reins,  and  guide  the 
wheels  now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left,  away  from  a  rock 
here,  away  from  the  edge  of  an  abyss  there.  Whither  is 
he  going?  Who  knows?  He  scarcely  remembers  whence 
he  came." 

The  journey  to  Weimar  was  for  the  purpose  of  a  visit: 
it  developed  into  a  residence  for  life. 


XVIII 

CLAVIGO STELLA — DRAMATIC    FRAGMENTS 

Origin  of  Clavigo — Sources — Merits — Reception — Origin  of  Stella — 
Sources — Prototypes  of  the  characters — Ferdinand  (Goethe)  the 
central  figure — Incongruities — Art  of  characterisation — Cdsar — 
Mahomet — Prometheus — Satyros — Hanswursts  Hochzeit. 

BEFORE  following  the  wanderer  to  Weimar  we  shall 
first  review  a  few  productions  which  had  their 
origin  in  the  last  years  of  his  life  in  Frankfort.  For 
in  spite  of  all  distractions  his  fertility  was  boundless. 
"People  could  demand  of  me  what  they  would;  all  that 
was  needed  was  an  occasion  of  somewhat  pronounced  char- 
acter and  I  was  prepared  and  ready."  In  Clavigo  we  have 
an  example  of  such  astonishingly  rapid  production.  The 
immediate  impulse  to  write  the  play  came  from  his  dear 
partner  in  the  above-mentioned  Mariage spiel.  At  one  of 
the  weekly  meetings,  in  the  spring  of  1774,  Goethe  had  read 
aloud  Beaumarchais's  fourth  Mhnoire,  in  which  the  author 
describes  his  quarrel  with  Clavigo,  the  keeper  of  the  records 
of  the  Spanish  Crown.  The  Memoir e  received  much  ap- 
plause, and  pretty  Fraulein  Munch  said  to  the  reader:  "  If 
I  were  your  sovereign  instead  of  your  wife  I  should  request 
you  to  dramatise  the  Memoire."  Boldly  and  chivalrously 
Goethe  thereupon  declared  that  her  wish  should  be  fulfilled 
within  a  week.  Before  the  week  was  up  the  work  was 
finished. 

To  be  sure,  the  Memoir e  fell  like  a  warm  rain  upon  a 
seed  which  had  long  been  germinating  in  the  poet's  soul. 
It  fitted,  in  the  main,  so  exactly  into  real  and  fancied 

235 


23^  ZTbe  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

experiences  of  his  that,  although  he  dramatised  these,  yet 
he  was  able  to  take  over  almost  the  whole  of  the  second 
act,  together  with  many  other  separate  passages,  from  the 
Alemoire,  and  at  the  same  time  to  say  with  pride :  "I 
challenge  the  critical  knife  to  separate  the  merely  trans- 
lated passages  from  the  whole  without  lacerating  its  flesh, 
without  inflicting  a  mortal  wound,  not  only  on  the  story, 
but  also  on  the  structure  and  life  of  the  play."  Immedi- 
ately after  its  completion  Goethe  openly  confessed  to  his 
friends  the  intimate  connection  between  the  chosen  material 
and  motives  in  his  own  life.  In  August  he  wrote  to  Fritz 
Jacobi:  "His  [Beaumarchais's]  character  and  his  acts  were 
amalgamated  with  personal  characteristics  and  acts  of  my 
own,"  and  to  Schonbom,  on  the  ist  of  June:  "My  hero, 
an  undecided,  half -great,  half -insignificant  character,  the 
pendant  to  Weislingen  in  Gotz,  or,  rather,  Weislingen  him- 
self, rounded  out  into  a  chief  character."  In  addition  to 
this  Goethe  assures  us  in  his  old  age  that  Clavigo  as  well 
as  WeisHngen  had  sprung  from  remorse  over  his  relations 
to  Friederike. 

Clavigo,  in  order  better  to  pursue  his  high  aims,  forsakes 
his  sweetheart,  Marie,  who  is  afflicted  with  a  pulmonary 
affection,  leaving  her  a  prey  to  disease  and  grief.  But 
sorely  as  the  faithless  one  has  wounded  her,  she  loves  him 
.  still.  This  is  an  exact  picture  of  Friederike  after  Goethe's 
^departure.  Goethe's  love  for  Friederike,  like  Clavigo's  for 
Marie,  is  dead,  but  remorse  and  consciousness  of  guilt  keep 
her  image  ever  alive  before  him.  "  I  cannot  rid  myself  of 
the  memory  that  I  have  forsaken  Marie — deceived  her — 
call  it  what  you  will."  Merck,  no  doubt,  often  found  him 
in  such  moments  of  remorse,  and  comforted  him  as  Carlos 
does  Clavigo.  Never  were  Merck's  nature  and  his  peculiar 
relation  to  Goethe  more  truthfully  portrayed  than  here  in 
this  drama.  A  matter-of-fact  man,  hardened  to  Mephis- 
tophelian  coldness,  his  clear,  worldly  understanding  leads 
him  to  claim  for  extraordinary  people  special  moral  dis- 
pensations. But  what,  on  the  one  hand,  he  loses  in  our 
estimation  by  his  merciless  ethics  that  disregards  the  fate 


Clavioo  237 

of  inferior  beings,  he  regains,  on  the  other  hand,  by  his 
warm  devotion  to  his  gifted  friend,  in  whose  great  destiny- 
he  firmly  believes.  "O  Clavigo,  I  have  cherished  thy  fate 
in  my  heart  as  my  own." 

As  Goethe  saw  himself  in  the  picture  of  the  great  yet 
insignificant,  strong  yet  weak,  ambitious  yet  merciful 
Clavigo,  so  likewise  in  the  picture  of  Beaumarchais,"  the 
brother  of  Clavigo's  forsaken  sweetheart.  How  often  the 
thought  must  have  come  to  him  of  what  he  should  be  likely 
to  do  if  Cornelia  were  treated  as  he  had  treated  Friederike ! 
On  such  occasions  he,  who  on  slight  provocation  would 
gnash  his  teeth  and  curse  in  an  ungodly  manner,  doubtless 
flew  into  as  savage  a  rage  inwardly  as  that  of  Beaumarchais 
in  the  first  redaction  of  the  play,  which  gave  Wieland  such 
a  shock.  In  other  respects  his  imagination,  when  it  fol- 
lowed out  the  further  fate  of  Friederike,  doubtless  painted 
a  development  such  as  we  find  in  Clavigo,  and  such  as  the 
Memoir e  afforded  until  near  the  close.  The  blending  of  real 
experiences  and  fancied  situations  with  Beaumarchais 's  nar- 
ration is  further  betrayed  by  the  name  Sophie,  which  is  given 
the  sister  of  Marie,  but  does  not  occur  in  the  Memoire. 
Cornelia  bore  this  name  in  her  circle  of  friends,  and  Fried- 
erike had  a  sister  named  Sophie.  For  Clavigo's  beloved  the 
poet  retained  the  name  Marie  for  the  sake  of  the  Madonna- 
like character  which  he  wished  to  give  her,  as  he  had  to 
her  counterpart  in  Gotz.  Marie's  true  and  unselfish  ad- 
mirer, Buenco,  like  Carlos,  a  character  created  by  Goethe, 
seems  to  have  been  suggested  by  memories  of  Lenz,  who 
had  presumably  occupied  a  similar  position  with  reference 
to  Friederike. 

By  thus  dramatising  the  Memoire  of  Beaumarchais 
Goethe  dramatised  a  painfully  sore  episode  of  his  own  soul- 
life.  Hence  we  find  in  Clavigo  the  same  glowing  fervour  of 
feeling  and  the  same  impassioned  flow  of  language  as  in 
Werther.  One  can  feel  the  beat  of  the  poet's  pulse,  feel  his 
throbbing  heart  driving  his  hand,  which  hastens  from  scene 
to  scene,  till  Clavigo,  with  Beaumarchais's  dagger  in  his 
heart,  falls  upon  the  lifeless  body  of  Marie.     Not  until  then 


238  JS^c  %\tc  Of  (Boetbe 

does  he  feel  relieved  and  lay  down  his  pen  satisfied  and  liber- 
ated. Once  more  he  has  been  able  to  confess  and  in  fancy 
atone  for  his  wrong. 

What  a  different  play  Goethe  had  produced  within  a  year 
after  Gotz  !  This  measured  Hmitation  in  time  and  place,  this 
powerful  imity  of  action,  this  noble  tone  of  language,  with 
hardly  any  traces  left  to  remind  us  of  Storm-and- Stress 
licence!  It  was  a  perfect  companion-piece  to  Emilia 
Galotti,  which  it  also  resembled  in  plot,  from  which,  how- 
ever, it  differed  in  that  it  was  not  the  product  merely  of 
thought  and  observ^ation,  but  of  feeling  and  experience. 
The  errors  in  technique  are  so  slight  that  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  stop  to  consider  them.  The  fact  that  the  servant, 
contrary  to  his  master's  orders,  merely  happens  to  pass 
through  the  street  in  which  Marie  dwells,  would  deserve 
serious  criticism  only  in  case  it  of  itself  brought  on  the 
catastrophe.  This  is  by  no  means  true.  The  catastrophe 
is  most  powerfully  motived  in  itself.  With  the  acuteness 
and  determination  of  an  angry  avenger  Beaiunarchais 
would  have  found  and  stabbed  Clavigo  in  any  event.  The 
trivial  motive  which  Goethe  employs  to  bring  things  to  a 
climax  is  merely  for  the  purpose  of  making  the  catastrophe 
simultaneous  with  Marie's  funeral,  thus  enhancing  the 
dramatic  beauty  of  the  last  act.  A  folk-song,  Der  Herr 
und  die  Magd,  among  those  he  had  collected  in  Alsatia, 
suggested  to  him  the  effective  shaping  of  the  closing  scene. 

When  Clavigo  was  published  it  failed  to  make  the  im- 
pression which  it  merited.  It  was  the  universal  opinion 
that  it  was  overshadowed  by  Werther,  which  appeared  at 
the  same  time,  and  the  younger  generation  missed  par- 
ticularly the  revolutionary  tendency  which  had  charac- 
terised the  substance  and  form  of  Gotz.  To  the  partisans 
of  the  Storm -and -Stress  movement  Clavigo  seemed  a  re- 
action against  Goethe's  former  self.  While  they  still  took 
delight  in  praising  Gotz  as  the  great  model,  which  they 
sought,  so  far  as  in  them  lay,  to  equal  or  surpass,  the  poet 
had  now  started  on  another  curve  which  was  apparently 
leading  him  back  to  the  old  regularity  of  the  drama  and  its 


Stella  239 

freedom  from  controversial  tendency.  Merck's  criticism, 
the  most  severe  of  all,  without  being  inspired  by  the  mo- 
tives of  the  yoimg  generation,  was:  "You  must  write  no 
more  such  rubbish  in  the  future ;  others  can  do  as  well  as 
that."  The  strong  words  find  their  explanation  in  Merck's 
expectations  of  other  and  higher  things,  and  in  the  peculiar 
pedagogical  method  which  he  applied  to  his  yoimg  friend. 
Without  doubt  Merck  was  impatient  to  see  one  of  the 
great  subjects,  to  which  Goethe  had  begim  to  apply  his 
heavy  sledge-hammer,  come  finished  from  the  forge.  He 
expected  a  Faust,  a  Prometheus,  or  a  Cdsar;  the  poet 
brought  him,  instead,  Clavigo.  He  could  not  help  fearing 
that,  if  he  should  applaud  this  product,  Goethe,  with  his 
pleasure  and  facility  in  production  and  the  innumerable 
motives  thronging  his  mind,  would  follow  this  small  piece 
with  a  host  of  similar  ones,  and  postpone  indefinitely  the 
execution  of  his  greater  projects.  That  these  fears  were 
not  without  foimdation  is  shown  by  the  facts,  as  well  as  by 
a  later  confession  of  the  poet.  Then,  too,  Merck's  likeness, 
which  he  could  not  fail  to  recognise  in  Carlos,  may  have 
vexed  him  somewhat.  It  is  remarkable  that  Merck's 
critical  opinion  should  still  have  weight  at  the  present  day. 
This  drama,  w^hich  Tieck  pronounced  a  finished  master- 
piece, is  passed  by,  either  with  captious  criticism  or  with 
subdued  praise,  as  if  one  were  afraid  of  departing  too  far 
from  the  verdict  of  the  military  paymaster  of  Darmstadt. 
Goethe  himself,  not  to  be  despised  as  a  critic  of  his  own 
works,  was  pleased  with  it  and  proudly  attached  his  name 
to  it,  the  first  of  his  writings  to  receive  this  distinction. 

Not  quite  a  year  after  Clavigo, ^^  Stella,  "a  play  for 
lovers,"  came  into  being.  Whereas  in  Clavigo  the  poet,  in 
a  certain  sense,  used  up  the  remnant  of  a  soul-burden  left 
over  from  Gotz,  Stella  sprang  from  new  experiences.  It  was 
conceived  at  the  time  of  his  dawning  love  for  Lili,  when 
"with  his  poor  heart  he  imexpectedly  fo\md  himself  again 
bearing  all  the  burdens  of  human  fate,  from  which  he  had 
barely  rescued  himself"  (letter  to  Knebel,  April  14,  1775)- 
He   was   terribly   worried   as   he   thought   over   his   love 


240  Zhc  %ltc  of  (5oetbe 

experiences  of  the  past  and  those  looming  up  in  the  future. 
Friederike  was  still  mourning  in  Sesenheim,  he  still  saw  the 
sad  face  of  his  dear  partner  of  the  year  before,  and  how  long 
would  it  be  before  Lili,  too,  was  forsaken?  Such  thoughts 
gave  him  an  uncanny  feeling.  "  I  am  simply  unbearable. 
.  .  .  I  shall  not  come  to  any  good  end,"  is  his  cry  of 
rage  in  a  letter  of  the  beginning  of  March  of  the  same  year. 
He  seeks  alleviation  from  these  anxieties  in  writing.  "  I 
should  go  to  ruin,  if  I  did  not  write  dramas  now." 

Chance  may  at  that  time  have  brought  to  his  notice,  or 
recalled  to  his  mind,  the  story  of  Swift's  bigamous  marriage 
with  Stella  and  Vanessa,  which  gave  him  the  outline  of  the 
new  drama,  in  which  the  hero  stands  between  two  loving 
wives  and  is  expected  to  satisfy  the  equally  justified  claims 
of  both.  In  other  ways  also  life  brought  this  problem  home 
to  him.  Fritz  Jacobi,  for  example,  had  incurred  a  multitude 
of  obligations  and  debts,  and  yet  his  aunt,  Johanna  Fahl- 
mer,  clung  to  him  in  resignation  and  love.  But  the  motive 
of  the  action  he  took  from  his  own  Hfe.  If,  as  has  been 
thought,  he  had  drawn  his  material  from  the  fortunes  of 
Jacobi,  he  would  not  have  been  able  to  say,  at  the  very 
time  when  he  was  at  work  on  the  play,  and  was  promising 
to  send  it  to  Countess  Auguste  Stolberg,  that  his  produc- 
tions were  always  merely  the  treasured-up  joys  and  sorrows 
of  his  life.  He  owes  not  a  single  character  to  Jacobi 's 
circle.  For  whereas  Johanna  Fahlmer  may  have  contrib- 
uted some  colour  to  Cacilie,  she  certainly  did  not  furnish 
the  body  of  the  character.  The  prototypes  of  the^  three 
chief  personages  are  perfectly  clear :  for  Fernando,  Goethe ; 
for  Stella,  Lili;  for  Cacilie,  Friederike. 

So  far  as  it  is  at  all  possible  to  speak  of  identity  of  model 
and  picture,  that  of  Lili  and  Stella  is  the  least  subject  to 
doubt.  Furthermore,  Goethe,  with  the  sovereign  frank- 
ness of  the  Storm-and-Stress  period,  made  no  effort  to  con- 
ceal this  in  any  way.  Stella  is  sixteen  when  she  meets 
Fernando;  she  has  blue  eyes  and  blond  hair,  is  "love  itself 
and  goodness";  in  their  first  hours  of  real  friendship  she 
has  told  him  of  her  former  little  love  affairs  and  thus  won 


Stella  241 

his  love  more  surely  than  ever.  This  is  true  of  LiH  in  every 
feature.  Besides,  scenes  from  the  theatre  and  from  the 
rural  life  at  the  uncle's  are  unmistakably  drawn  from  the 
courtship  in  Frankfort  and  Offenbach.  Also  the  fact  that 
Stella  elopes  with  Fernando  in  order  that  she  may  belong 
to  him  is  not  very  different  from  Lili's  readiness  to  go  with 
Goethe  to  America.  In  only  one  point  has  Goethe  changed 
Lili's  nature  in  the  poetic  portrait.  He  gave  the  forsaken 
one  the  sentimentality  of  Lila  von  Ziegler  (cf.  p.  146).  Like 
this  Elysian  saint,  Stella  has  her  hermitage,  her  tomb,  her 
rose-altar,  and  in  these  sacred  places  delights  in  the  "joy 
of  grief."  Around  the  idealised  figure  there  hovers  a  soft 
halo,  and  in  its  purity  and  nobility  of  soul,  depth  of  feeling, 
and  exalted  human  kindness  it  is  truly  great.  "One  can- 
not see  her  without  loving  her.  .  .  .  It  is  incompre- 
hensible, how  she  can  be  so  unhappy  and  yet  so  friendly 
and  good.  ,  .  .  There  is  not  another  such  heart  in  this 
world,"  says  the  sturdy,  active  landlady  of  the  post  station. 
Cacilie  is  as  different  from  Stella  as  Friederike  from 
Lili.  She  has  the  same  good-heartedness,  the  same  high 
sentiments,  and  yet  she  is  inferior,  narrower,  more  modest. 
Not  only  does  she  not  complain  of  her  husband,  who  has 
left  her  in  the  lurch,  but,  what  is  more,  she  pardons  him. 
"  He  needed  more  than  my  love  .  .  .  finally  I  came  to 
be  nothing  to  him  but  an  honest  housewife,  most  earnestly 
devoted  to  him  and  endeavouring  to  please  him  and  care  for 
him,  sacrificing  all  my  days  to  the  welfare  of  my  home  and 
child,  and  obliged  to  occupy  my  mind  with  so  many  trifles 
that  I  was  no  longer  an  entertaining  companion,  and  he, 
with  the  sprightliness  of  his  mind,  could  not  but  find  my 
society  dull."  She  is  willing  without  further  ado  to  give 
him  up  in  favour  of  Stella.  She  wdll  be  satisfied  with  his 
friendship  and  his  letters.  As  she  is  a  mature  woman  and 
has  passed  through  many  trials — she  has  now  been  married 
to  Fernando  for  seventeen  or  eighteen  years — Goethe  was 
obliged  to  blend  with  his  youthful  prototype  some  features 
of  riper  age,  which  he  may  have  borrowed  from  Friederike 's 
mother  or  Johanna  Fahkner. 

VOL.    1. — 16.       . 


242  Zl)c  Xifc  of  6oetbe 

The  figure  of  Fernando  is  the  axis  about  which  the  play 
revolves.  That  Goethe  sat  for  it  himself  is  too  evident  to 
need  special  proof.  He  has  even  retained  his  own  brown 
locks  and  black  eyes.  But  the  best  side  of  himself,  his 
manly  character,  he  withheld.  Fernando  is  neither  a  Don 
Juan,  who  in  reckless  cold  blood  sacrifices  one  wife  after 
another  to  his  sensual  desire,  nor  a  Goethe,  who  fights  back 
his  insidious,  boimdless  passions  before  they  accomplish  ir- 
reparable injury,  before  they  put  him  under  indissoluble 
obligations.  Fernando  is  a  weakly  woman's  hero,  nothing 
more.  Whereas  Goethe  said  of  Clavigo,  who  so  nearly 
resembles  Fernando  in  moral  constitution,  that  he  was 
half-great,  half-insignificant,  Fernando  himself  is  wholly 
insignificant,  wholly  despicable.  He  has  not,  as  Clavigo, 
been  a  traitor  in  a  single  instance;  he  is  guilty  of  double 
and  threefold  treachery ;  not  merely  to  one  woman  he  loves, 
but  to  two  wives,  and  not  alone  to  these,  but  to  his  child- 
ren as  well ;  nor  does  he  leave  his  wives  and  children  under 
the  protection  of  their  relatives,  as  Clavigo  does  Marie  un- 
der the  care  of  her  married  sister ;  he  leaves  them  without 
any  protection  and  among  strangers.  He  runs  away  with- 
out the  least  assurance  that  his  flight  will  not  cast  his  wife 
and  children  into  misery  and  want.  Whereas  his  desertion 
of  CaciHe  was  bad  enough,  his  treachery  to  Stella  was  mon- 
strous, for  she  had  sacrificed  everything  for  him, —  family, 
home,  friends,  happy  circumstances,  even  her  social  honour. 
To  be  sure,  he  attempts  to  throw  a  pleasing  cloak  about  his 
treachery  to  Stella  by  asserting  that  he  has  gone  away  to 
seek  out  Cacilie,  his  first  wife,  about  whom  his  conscience 
has  been  troubling  him  constantly.  But  we  have  as  little 
faith  in  this  reason  as  did  the  agent  in  the  later  version  of 
the  play,  who  is  devoted  to  Fernando,  body  and  soul.  For, 
if  this  was  the  sole  reason,  why  did  not  Fernando  return 
when  he  failed  to  find  Cacilie?  Why  did  he  prefer  to  go  to 
the  Corsican  war  as  a  hireling?  And  why,  after  all,  did  he 
return  again  to  Stella  at  the  close  of  the  war?  If  he  went 
to  the  Corsican  war  because  he  wanted  to  rid  himself  of 
life,  why  did  he  not  make  a  further  attempt  in  another  war? 


Stella  243 

Or  had  his  dissatisfaction  with  life  vanished  so  quickly  in 
the  war?  Had  he  perhaps  now  grown  weary,  not  of  life, 
but  of  hardships,  and  did  he  wish  to  seek  a  little  recreation 
from  these  hardships  in  the  soft  arms  of  his  Stella,  and,  in 
course  of  time,  when  rest  should  become  tedious,  run  off 
again  and  perhaps  forget  Cacilie  and  Stella  in  the  arms  of  a 
third  mistress?  We  expect  this  of  him  and  hence  do  not 
understand  how  the  women,  after  all  their  experience  with 
him,  can  still  be  willing  to  live  with  him,  and  can  still 
labour  under  the  delusion  that  he  will  from  now  on  remain 
a  faithful  husband  to  them.  The  nobler  and  purer  their 
natures  the  more  they  should  have  been  terrified  and  in- 
dignant on  discovering  that  the  man  of  whom  they  held  so 
high  an  opinion  was  a  miserable  traitor,  a  pitiful  swaggerer, 
who  had  deceived  himself  and  them  by  his  fine  words ;  that 
he,  who  on  their  bosoms  poured  out  the  sorrows  of  a  whole 
world,  was  utterly  without  sympathy  for  the  sufferings  of 
those  nearest  him.  The  more  beautiful  the  illusion  had 
been  the  more  distorted  the  reality  must  have  appeared. 
If  Fernando  had  at  least,  like  Clavigo,  been  full  of  great 
projects,  if  seductive  ambitions  had  driven  him  away  from 
the  family  threshold,  the  women  could  have  excused  his 
evil  past  and  hoped  for  a  pure  and  noble  future  when 
ambition  should  have  vanished  in  smoke  or  been  satisfied. 
Every  truly  great  ambition  makes  for  reconciliation.  Not 
so  in  the  case  of  Fernando.  We  are  told,  it  is  true  (in  the 
first  version),  that  he  has  forsaken  Cacilie  in  order  to  avoid 
stifling  his  powers  and  standing  in  the  way  of  his  own 
future  greatness.  But  after  he  gains  freedom  of  action 
what  does  he  do  with  his  powers,  with  his  great  soul,  with 
which  the  poet  elsewhere  accredits  him?  He  enters  into 
another  liaison,  dallies  away  five  years  with  his  mistress  in 
a  beautiful  castle,  then  goes  out  again  into  the  world,  plays 
soldier,  and  returns  home  to  sweet  idleness.  Falling  the 
victim  a  second  time  of  such  an  unmanly  weakling,  merely 
on  the  strength  of  his  bewitching  eyes  and  voice  and  his 
sentimental  words,  we  can  understand,  perhaps,  in  an  El- 
vira, but  not  in  such  deep,  serious  characters  as  Cacilie  and 


244  ^be  Xlfe  of  6oetbe 

Stella.  One  of  two  things  the  poet  ought  to  have  done: 
he  ought  either  to  have  made  Fernando  greater,  or  the 
women  less  great.  As  the  characters  now  stand,  the  happy 
solution  of  the  first  version,  the  double  marriage,  is  an  im- 
possibility. It  is  most  impossible  for  Stella,  who  is  the 
stronger  character  and  has  been  the  more  grievously  de- 
ceived. Goethe  recognised  this  in  his  old  age  and  made 
Stella  take  poison  and  Fernando  shoot  himself. 

This  change,  however,  removed  only  the  worst  out- 
growth, not  the  evil  itself,  which  arises  from  the  character 
of  Fernando.  He  is  supposed  to  be  a  man,  but  is  not.  He 
has  the  power  neither  of  virtue  nor  of  vice.  He  has  no 
will,  he  has  only  whims.  No  strong  instinct,  no  great 
passion  rules  him.  Without  will,  without  rudder,  he 
drifts  hither  and  thither.  We  can  endure  such  an  im- 
manly  man  in  a  secondary  role  as  a  foil  to  set  off  a  real 
man,  but  as  the  chief  character  he  is  intolerable,  because 
he  is  half -tedious  and  half -odious.  If  an  actor  would  make 
the  role  effective — we  have  never  seen  one  who  succeeded 
in  doing  so — he  would  have  to  contribute  more  to  it  than 
the  poet  did. 

Goethe  made  the  same  blunder  in  this  character  that 
he  did  in  some  others  for  which  he  took  himself  as  the 
model:  for  example,  Eridon  in  Die  Laune  des  Verliebten. 
He  took  a  phase  of  his  own  character,  magnified  its  weak 
side,  and,  in  the  union  of  author  and  model,  forgot  to  add 
what  was  needed  for  the  sake  of  completeness. 

Aside  from  the  unsuccessful  figure  of  Fernando,  the  art 
of  characterisation  is  admirable.  The  delicate  shading  in 
the  two  equally  good  and  equally  unhappy  wives  belongs 
to  the  best  that  ever  poet's  hand  created.  Of  the  great 
number  of  beauties  in  the  play  we  may  here  call  attention 
to  one  only,  Stella's  soliloquy  in  the  fifth  act,  an  exquisite 
monodrama,  in  which  all  the  chords  of  a  loving  heart  that 
has  been  unspeakably  deceived  resound  with  most  noble 
and  most  thrilling  tones.  Noteworthy  also  is  the  concen- 
tration of  the  action,  which  surpasses  even  that  of  Clavigo. 
It  all  takes  place  within  the  space  of  one  day. 


2)ramatlc  ^fragments  245 

The  play,  which  was  not  published  till  the  end  of  Jan- 
uary, 1776,  created  a  great  sensation,  especially  because  of 
the  ending.  Four  pirated  editions  appeared  within  a 
single  week.  Goethe  sent  a  copy  to  Lili  with  these  touching 
verses : 

3m  ()o(bcn  tal,  aiif  [c^nccbcbccftcn  §5^cn 

3Bar  ftctg  bcin  2^ilb  niir  mil); 

3d)  fill)' 6  urn  mid)  in  Iid)tcn  3Bo(fen  mhm, 

3m  f>cr^cn  roar  rnir'?  ba. 

©mpfinbc  l)icr,  roic  mit  allmac^t'gem  2:riebc 

©in  ^QXi  ta^  nnbrc  jie^t, 

5lnb  ta^  ucrgeticns  iiiebc 

55or  i^icbe  flicl)t.* 

Well  could  he  dedicate  it  to  her,  for  Stella  "  is  the 
apotheosis  of  Lili. 

Beside  the  two  light  operas,  Erwin  und  Elmire  and 
Claudine  von  Villa  Bella,  which  he  later  completely  recast, 
Goethe  finished  no  other  drama  in  Frankfort ;  he  produced, 
however,  a  series  of  precious  fragments.  To  these  belong 
Faust  and  Egmont.  As  they  will  be  considered  farther  on, 
we  shall  here  merely  cast  a  glance  at  those  which  were  not 
destined  to  reach  maturity. 

The  oldest  among  them  is  Cdsar,  which  unfortunately 
has  all,  except  a  few  lines,  been  lost.  The  subject  had  occu- 
pied the  poet's  mind  back  in  Strasburg.  It  seems  to  have 
been  his  purpose  at  that  time,  much  as  in  Gotz,  to  weave 
together  dramatically  the  most  prominent  points  in  the  life 
of  the  hero.  Later  he  discarded  this  idea  as  unartistic,  and 
limited  himself  to  the  moment  of  greatest  dramatic  interest, 
Caesar's  death.  But  this  gave  rise  to  other  difficulties. 
From  the  beginning  he  had  given  Caesar  his  full  sympathy, 

*  In  lovely  vale,  on  peak  of  snowy  white 
Thy  form  was  everywhere; 
I  saw  it  drifting  in  the  mist-clouds  light ; 
Within  my  heart,  't  was  there. 
Know  thou  by  this,  with  what  resistless  might 
A  yearning  heart  is  fraught: 
When  love  shuns  love  by  flight 
'T  is  all  for  naught. 


246  Zbe  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

because  he  had  found  in  the  hero  many  traits  of  his  own 
character.  This  of  necessity  lowered  the  assassins  in  his 
favour  and  debased  them  in  the  play.  In  a  Hne  of  his 
diary,  written  in  Strasburg,  they  are  called  "good-for- 
nothing  fellows,"  and  four  years  later  he  declared  to  Bod- 
mer  that  they  were  villains.  But  a  play  in  which  all  the 
light  should  fall  on  Csesar  and  all  the  shade  on  the  con- 
spirators was  so  contrary  to  the  spirit  of  an  age  in  which 
even  young  counts  thundered  against  tyrants,  that  Goethe 
could,  with  perfect  certainty,  take  it  for  granted  that  his 
play  would  fail  to  win  favour,  especially  in  the  circles  he 
cared  most  about.  Hence  he  writes,  on  the  ist  of  Jtme, 
1774,  to  Schonbom,  that  his  Cdsar  ^s  will  not  please  his 
friends.  But  the  very  thing  he  feared  his  friends  would  feel 
he  felt  himself  in  many  an  hour.  As  soon  as  he  got  rid 
of  the  burden  of  the  Caesarean  genius  he  was  under  the 
spell  of  Brutus 's  pure,  undaunted  spirit  of  liberty,  which 
explains  his  lapidary  panegyrics  on  the  two  in  Lavater's 
Physiognomische  Fragmente.  This  wavering,  which  must 
of  necessity  have  led  to  a  repetition  of  the  Shakespearian 
work,  wrecked  the  play. 

Mahomet  did  not  progress  much  farther  than  Cdsar. 
The  beginnings  go  back  to  the  year  1772.  In  this  play, 
again,  the  chief  moments  of  the  life  of  a  great  spirit — rise, 
struggle,  victory,  and  death — were  to  pass  before  us  in 
dramatic  pictures.  As  a  general  motive  the  poet  had  in 
mind  to  depict  all  the  power  that  genius  is  able  to  exert 
over  men  through  character  and  intellect.  But  when  he 
met  Lavater  and  Basedow  in  the  summer  of  1774  the 
general  motive  was  specialised  to  the  thought  that  the 
superior  man  would  like  to  spread  abroad  the  divine  in- 
fluence which  he  feels  within  him.  But  then  he  comes  into 
contact  with  the  rough  world,  and,  in  order  to  influence  it, 
has  to  descend  to  its  level ;  but  by  so  doing  he  compromises 
his  superior  qualities  in  great  measure  and  finally  loses 
them  altogether.  The  heavenly  and  the  eternal  are  in- 
corporated in  the  body,  controlled  by  earthly  purposes, 
and  carried  away  with  it  to  a  transitory  fate. 


Dramatic  jTragmente  247 

But  the  drama,  even  with  this  new  infiltration  of  realism, 
apparently  never  advanced  beyond  hasty  sketches.  The 
few  elaborated  scenes  which  have  come  down  to  us  belong 
to  the  earlier  period,  among  them  also  the  richly  coloured 
symbolic  hymn  to  the  triumph  of  genius,  Mahomets  Gesang, 
originally  an  amoebasum  between  Ali  and  Fatime  in  honour 
of  their  master  at  the  height  of  his  success. 

Prometheus  attained  to  fuller  maturity,  because  in  it 
Goethe's  heart  was  more  involved.  Prometheus  is  Gotz 
magnified  to  Titanic  proportions.  This  Titan,  puffed  up 
with  self-assurance  and  power,  defies  even  the  gods.  He 
is  boimd  by  no  gratitude.  He  has  rescued  himself  from 
the  hardest  struggles  and  greatest  dangers  by  his  own 
strength.  What  the  gods  did  for  him  they  did  for  them- 
selves. He  feels  himself  their  peer,  for  he  can  create  as 
well  as  they.  His  realm  extends  as  far  as  the  sphere  of  his 
activity.  What  though  this  be  small,  he  is  nevertheless 
lord  over  it.  He  has  no  need  of  the  gods  even  to  give  life 
to  his  creatures;  for  through  his  genius  (Minerva)  he  has 
a  share  in  the  world-spirit,  who  rules  the  gods  as  well  as  him, 
and  through  this  spirit  his  creatures  receive  life.  It  makes 
no  difference  to  him  that  he  must  suffer  pain.  He  finds 
within  himself  the  power  to  dry  his  tears,  and  does  not  hate 
life  because  not  all  dreams  that  blossom  reach  maturity. 
Thus  he,  the  life-loving,  fate-hardened  world-conqueror 
stands  in  striking  contrast  to  life-hating,  weak,  world- 
fleeing  Werther.  In  Prometheus  the  poet  celebrated  his 
victory  over  the  Werther  moods  to  which  he  was,  for  the 
time  being,  subject.  We  hear  his  fondness  for  life  and 
enjoyment  of  creation,  when  Prometheus,  happy  and  proud 
in  the  midst  of  his  creatures,  cries:  "  Here  is  my  world,  my 
all!  Here  I  feel  myself,  all  my  wishes  in  corporeal  forms. 
My  spirit  so  thousandfold  divided  and  yet  one  in  my  dear 
children."  But  the  most  perfect  of  his  creatures  is  love, 
Pandora.  In  her  he  has  incorporated  everything  that  has 
quickened  and  refreshed  him  under  the  wide  heaven  and 
upon  the  boimdless  earth.  By  radiating  love  and  being 
borne  up  by  it   he  becomes   most  like  a  god.      Goethe 


248  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

thus  gives  the  old  fable  an  original  and  highly  poetical 
turn. 

Prometheus  originated  in  1773,  the  year  in  which  Goethe 
began  to  study  Spinoza.  It  is  a  document  of  this  study. 
That  for  which  Goethe  had  been  prepared  by  the  teachings 
of  antiquity,  and  by  Giordano  Bruno,  and  which  the  mystics 
of  the  Storm-and-Stress  period,  Hamann  and  Herder,  had 
developed  into  a  precious  faith,  was  established  in  his  mind 
as  a  certainty  by  Spinoza:  God  and  the  world  are  one, 
and  every  individual  is  a  part  of  the  world-divinity.  From 
this  standpoint  he  could  not  admit  that  gods  have  a  nature 
different  from  the  human,  are  subject  to  special  laws,  and 
superior  to  man.  Neither  could  happiness  consist  in  sub- 
mission to  the  gods ;  it  must  consist  solely  in  being  in  har- 
mony with  the  divine  universe,  into  which  state  one  must 
seek  to  enter  by  means  of  creation  and  love. 

Goethe  did  not  carry  the  play  beyond  two  short  acts. 
The  well-known  powerful  soliloquy,  which  he  later  included 
among  his  poems  under  the  title  Prometheus, ^^  was  probably 
intended  to  open  the  second  act,  the  awakening  of  himian 
life,  and  the  present  second  scene  was  to  be  moved  forward. 
Lessing  became  acquainted  with  the  soliloquy  as  early  as 
1780,  through  Fritz  Jacobi,  and  was  pleased  to  note  the 
Spinozism  expressed  in  it.  This  gave  rise  later  to  a  heated 
controversy  over  Lessing's  Spinozism,  which  made  the 
poem  famous  also  from  an  historical  point  of  view.  Why 
the  play  was  not  completed  is  easily  understood.  It  was 
not  merely  because  in  Goethe's  poetic  forest  the  trees  grew 
so  close  to  one  another  that  one  took  away  light  and  air 
from  the  other:  it  was  hard  for  the  poet  to  find  a  solution 
to  satisfy  himself.  The  burden  of  thought  was  too  much 
in  conflict  with  the  realistic  form,  and  for  a  symbolic  solu- 
tion the  young  poet  was  not  yet  prepared. 

The  fragment,  with  its  unrhymed  vers  irreguliers  and 
noble  diction,  is  radiant  with  the  morning  glow  of  the  youth 
of  mankind,  which  suffuses  even  the  Titanic  defiance  with 
its  soft,  blending  tones. 

Beside  the  serious,  our  poet  also  gave  wide  range  to  the 


Dramatic  Jfraomente  249 

humorous  in  his  productions  during  the  years  in  Frankfort. 
And,  again,  it  was  almost  exclusively  the  dramatic  form 
which  he  selected  for  these  merry  children  of  his  muse. 
We  have  already  made  the  passing  acquaintance  of  some 
of  these  productions.  The  two  most  clever  of  the  period 
are  still  to  be  mentioned:  Satyros,  or  The  Deified  Sylvan 
Devil,  and  Hanswursts  Hochzeit.  These  deserve  a  little 
more  attention  than  the  others. 

Satyros,  which  probably  originated  in  1773,  has  the 
following  plot:  A  hermit,  weary  of  the  tedious  folly  of 
city  people,  has  moved  out  into  God's  free  nature,  and  a 
satyr  comes  to  him  wdth  a  sorely  wounded  leg.  Though 
kindly  received,  the  latter  has  none  but  abusive  words  for 
the  loving  care  bestowed  upon  him,  scolds  about  anything 
and  everything,  and  takes  advantage  of  the  momentary 
absence  of  his  benefactor  to  throw  the  hermit's  crucifix 
into  the  water  and  steal  from  him  a  valuable  piece  of  linen. 
Then  he  hobbles  back  into  the  woods  and  with  lovely  soft 
singing  and  playing  on  the  flute  entices  to  him  the  maidens 
Arsinoe  and  Psyche.  While  the  beautiful  song  does  not 
make  Arsinoe  forget  the  long  ears  and  unkempt  hair  of  the 
satyr.  Psyche  is  completely  intoxicated  and  raves  over  his 
divinely  sublime  face.  Satyros  notes  her  devotion  to  him 
and  with  clever  eagerness  seeks  to  enjoy  the  sweet  fruit  of 
it.  While  Arsinoe  goes  to  fetch  her  father,  Hermes,  to  see 
the  remarkable  man,  Satyros  makes  a  fawning  declaration 
of  his  love  to  Psyche,  which  brings  the  maiden,  dissolved  in 
bliss,  into  his  arms  to  receive  his  smacking  kisses.  Im- 
mediately aftens^ard  Arsinoe  returns  with  Hermes.  Satyros 
replies  to  the  words  of  welcome  by  scoffing  at  Hermes 's  gar- 
ment and  beard,  and,  boasting  of  his  own  nakedness  and 
ungainliness,  laimches  out  into  an  impassioned  description 
of  the  condition  of  primeval  man,  in  which  state  alone, 
"free  from  the  burden  of  accumulated  trifles,"  one  may 
feel  what  it  is  to  live.  A  great  crowd  of  people  has  gathered 
during  the  speech,  and  when  he  has  ended  with  the  w^ords, 
"The  tree  becomes  a  tent,  the  grass  a  carpet,  the  raw 
chestnut  a  lordly  feast,"  the   people    join   in   and    shout: 


250  tTbe  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

"Raw  chestnuts!  Son  of  Jupiter!  Raw  chestnuts!  Ours  the 
world!"  At  once  the  new  food  is  eaten  in  the  forest  and 
Satyros  accompanies  the  meal  with  a  sermon,  composed  of 
ancient  Greek  philosophemes,  concerning  the  beginning  of 
the  world.  As  nobody  understands  him,  everybody  is  the 
more  firmly  convinced  that  the  new  prophet  is  a  god. 
They  fall  on  their  knees  and  worship  him.  Psyche  is  about 
to  expire  for  joy.  At  this  moment  the  hermit  comes  run- 
ning up  and  attacks  the  god,  calling  him  an  ill-bred,  noxious 
beast,  because  he  has  ungratefully  stolen  his  linen  and 
crucifix.  The  people,  enraged  at  this  blasphemy,  are  about 
to  stone  him,  and  it  is  only  with  great  difficulty  that  Hermes 
succeeds  in  commuting  an  immediate  execution  to  a  later 
solemn  sacrifice.  Till  then  the  hermit  is  to  be  locked  up  in 
his  lodge.  Hermes 's  shrewd  wife,  Eudora,  has  meanwhile 
become  well  aware  of  Satyros's  true  nature,  and  decides  to 
employ  a  ruse  to  unmask  him  and  at  the  same  time  save 
the  hermit.  She  entices  Satyros  into  the  temple,  and  just 
as  the  hermit  is  about  to  be  sacrificed  she  screams  for  help. 
Hermes  breaks  open  the  doors  of  the  temple,  and  Eudora 
is  seen  defending  herself  against  the  audacious  embraces  of 
Satyros.  The  people,  horrified,  cry:  "A  beast,  a  beast!" 
while  Satyros  cold-bloodedly  and  contemptuously  says : 

3d^  tdt  cud^  6[eln  eine  (E^re  an, 
5Bie  mein  Skater  Siipitcr  Dor  tnir  gctan; 
SSollt  cure  bummcn  ^opf  bele^rcn 
Unb  eiiren  SScibcrn  bie  5[lh"icfen  iDc^rcn, 
^ic  i^r  nid)t  gebenft,  i^ncn  311  ocrtrcibcn ; 
@o  mogt  tt)r  bcnn  im  Trccf  beflciben. 
3c^  jie^'  mcine  ^^anh  Pon  end)  ah, 
2a)Tc  311  cblern  Stcrblic^en  mid^  ^erab.* 

*  You  asses  I  did  an  honour  show, 
As  my  father  Jupiter  long  ago; 
I  wished  to  open  your  stupid  eyes, 
And  protect  your  ladies  from  the  flies, 
Which  you  neglected  to  drive  away; 
So  henceforth  in  squalor  you  wallow  may. 
No  more  to  you  shall  I  succour  lend; 
To  nobler  mortals  I  '11  condescend. 


Dramatic  jTraomcnte  251 

There  have  been  many  conjectures  as  to  who  is  meant 
in  this  satire,  written  with  the  "divine  boldness  of  youth," 
and  the  names  of  Basedow,  Kaufmann,  Heinse,  and  Klinger 
have  all  been  suggested.  But  after  Wilhelm  Scherer's 
arguments  there  can  hardly  be  any  further  doubt  that  it 
refers  to  Herder,  as  the  Court  circles  in  Weimar  pointed  out, 
and  as  Psyche,  the  poetical  surname  of  his  fiancee,  clearly 
shows.  Herder's  habit  of  wounding  the  feelings  of  even 
his  benefactors  by  his  morose  and  bitter  criticism ;  his  two- 
fold nature  in  which  Orphic  fancy  and  rude  cynicism, 
ethereal  sentimentalism  and  sensual  desire,  were  to  be 
found  side  by  side,  are  excellently  characterised.  And  for 
the  very  reason  that  Herder  strove  to  envelop  his  animal 
passions,  which  he  as  well  as  other  human  beings  possessed, 
in  a  cloud  of  affected  heavenly  feelings,  the  temptation  was 
all  the  greater  for  Goethe  to  caricature  him  as  above. 
Furthermore,  Herder,  as  a  disciple  of  Rousseau,  was  a  be- 
liever in  a  free,  natural  life.  As  such,  and  as  an  admirer 
of  antiqtiity,  he  considered  that  clothing  disfigures  man. 
He  was  also  a  convincing  preacher,  whether  he  spoke  in- 
telligibly or  unintelligibly,  in  a  large  or  small  circle,  to 
men  or  women.  Finally,  Herder  was  widely  travelled  and 
had  doubtless  everywhere  won  fiery  admirers,  especially 
among  the  women.  Hence  Goethe,  in  the  passage  of 
Dichtung  und  Wahrheit  where  he  cautiously  indicates  the 
model  for  Sa tyros,  could  speak  of  him  as  the  ruder  and 
more  excellent  of  those  fellows  who  anchored  in  every  city 
and  sought  to  gain  influence,  at  least  in  a  few  families. 
Furthermore,  we  must  not  forget  that  Goethe,  as  well  as 
Merck,  whom  we  must  imagine  as  having  had  a  share  in 
the  origin  of  the  farce,  either  by  actual  work  or  by  sug- 
gestions, knew  a  great  deal  more  about  young  Herder  than 
we  do;  that  they  understood  him  and  explained  him  to 
themselves,  especially  in  the  years  from  1771  to  1775, 
differently  and  more  correctly  than  we  of  to-day,  who  look 
upon  him  as  the  Weimar  superintendent-general  [of  the 
Lutheran  church]  and  the  author  of  profound  and  serious 
works.     It  may  be  that  very  definite  scenes  which  occurred, 


252  ^be  Xlfe  of  6oetbe 

either  among  his  male  friends,  or  among  the  women  of 
Darmstadt,  had  their  influence.  At  the  same  time  we 
must  remember  that  the  exaggerations  and  distortions 
of  caricature  are  the  necessary  accompaniments  of  satire, 
and  that  Satyros  was  written,  not  for  publication,  but  only 
for  the  private  amusement  of  the  poet  and  some  few  friends, 
and  that  every  composition,  once  bom,  has  its  independent 
life  by  virtue  of  which  it  transcends  its  immediate  occasion. 
Hence  it  is  a  mistake  to  raise  objections  to  the  reference  of 
Satyros  to  Herder  on  the  ground  of  details  which  have  no 
correspondence  in  reality. 

In  Satyros  he  also  attacked  the  then  very  common 
mingling  of  the  prophetic  with  the  grossly  sensual  and 
material,  as  well  as  the  extravagant  deification  of  nature 
and  the  natural.  And  here  the  poet  has  indulged  freely  in 
roguish  self-criticism.  He  bestowed  upon  the  little  work  an 
especial  charm  in  the  wealth  of  rhythmic  forms.  Iambic, 
trochaic,  dactylic,  anapestic  rhythms,  short  and  long  lines, 
light  doggerel  and  dignified,  inspiring  verse  alternate  in  most 
spritely  variation,  the  form  always  corresponding  to  the 
thought. 

Of  unequal  eminence,  but  still  more  wanton  and  auda- 
cious is  Hanswursts  Hochzeit.  It  is  the  vulgar,  comic  counter- 
part to  Werther,  as  Prometheus  was  the  sublime  and  serious. 
Goethe  treats  the  material  with  all  the  sans-gene  and 
startling  plainness  of  speech  of  the  older  German  carnival 
plays,  and  retains  their  loose  couplets.  In  Hanswurst's 
world  there  is  no  delicacy  of  feeling.  One  becomes  accus- 
tomed to  everything,  even  the  commonest  and  the  vilest 
things.  Cousins  Schuft  (Scamp)  and  Schurke  (Rascal)  are 
invited  to  the  wedding,  as  well  as  other  dirty  male  and 
female  companions;  for  they  belong  to  the  family.  The 
right  of  existence  is  unconditionally  respected.  Hanswurst, 
who  is  not  disturbed  by  any  moral  or  physical  repulsive- 
ness  in  the  world,  or  in  the  wedding  guests,  has,  however, 
one  pain,  viz.,  that  by  the  elaborate  wedding  festivities 
he  is  deprived  of  the  possession  of  his  Ursel  Blondine 
longer  than   he  likes.     For  he  is  a  plain,   matter-of-fact 


Dramatic  jf ragmen ts  253 

man,  and  cannot  endure  any  formalities  that  hinder  the 
full  and  immediate  development  of  all  his  powers,  which  is 
the  true  aim  of  life.  "  I  am  cut  out  of  a  whole  block,"  he 
says  proudly.  This  makes  him  in  the  poet's  mind  a  robust 
champion  of  unvarnished  naturalness  against  conventional 
appearance  (an  honest,  simple  Satyros)  and  at  the  same 
time  a  parody  on  Wert  her,  who  stands  on  the  same  ground, 
from  which  he,  however,  strives  upward  toward  high  ideals, 
which  Wurstel  ridicules  as  the  vapourings  of  a  woman.  In 
the  play  itself  Kilian  Brustfleck,  the  guardian  and  tutor  of 
Hanswurst,  is  contrasted  with  him.  He  is  the  representa- 
tive of  that  class  which  pays  attention  chiefly  to  appear- 
ances. He  is  unhappy  that  with  all  his  moral  and  political 
sweat  he  has  been  unable  to  cast  this  spirit  of  uncultivated, 
primeval  man  out  of  Wurstel.  He  will  allow  him  to  be 
anything,  if  only  he  will  appear  to  be  polite.  What  the 
further  course  of  the  wedding  was  cannot  be  made  out  from 
the  few  fragments  that  have  come  down  to  us,  and  Goethe's 
sketch  in  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit.  The  unusually  large 
number  of  characters  in  the  play  would  have  made  it  pos- 
sible to  turn  upon  the  most  varied  conditions,  ideas,  and 
men  the  lantern  of  the  merry  scoffer.  But  he  soon  dis- 
carded the  subject  as  too  broad  and  too  vulgar.  If  the 
play  had  been  completed  we  should  possess  a  comedy  little 
inferior  to  those  of  Aristophanes  in  wit,  and  superior  to 
them  in  bold  licence. 


XIX 

THE    WEIMAR   COURT    OF   THE    MUSES 

Weimar  in  1775 — Anna  Amalia — Wieland — Knebel — Count  Goertz — 
Minister  von  Fritsch — The  chamberlains — Musaus — Bertuch — 
Kraus — Duchess  Luise — Charlotte  von  Stein — Fraulein  von  Goch- 
hausen — Baroness  von  Werthern — Countess  von  Werthem — 
Corona  Schroter — Frau  Schardt — Karl  August :  his  artistic  sense, 
poetic  temperament,  idealism,  love  of  nature,  simplicity,  and 
originality,  hatred  of  Court  formalities,  liberality,  progressiveness 
— Weimar  the  centre  of  German  culture — The  youthful  Court — Its 
significance  for  Goethe. 

TUESDAY,  November  7,  1775,  before  the  break  of  day, 
Goethe  arrived  in  Weimar.  If  he  had  thought  of 
anything  more  than  a  passing  visit  his  heart  would 
perhaps  have  sunk  within  him  on  his  arrival  in  the  dark, 
quiet  country  town.^°  The  six  thousand  inhabitants  of  the 
Thuringian  capital  led  a  miserable,  sleepy  life.  There  was 
no  trade  and  no  industry  to  bring  prosperity  and  life. 
Apart  from  the  crumbs  that  fell  from  the  Court  table  agri- 
culture was  the  only  source  of  living.  In  the  morning 
the  town  herdsman  called  together  all  the  live  stock  with 
his  horn  and  in  the  evening  drove  the  beasts  back  through 
the  dirty,  ill-smelling  streets.  At  most  hours  of  the  day 
the  town  seemed  deserted ;  at  best  one  saw  here  and  there 
an  idler  sunning  himself  in  front  of  his  door,  or  some  one 
from  Court  riding  or  driving  through  the  streets.  No  tide 
of  commerce  entered  this  haven.  The  mails  were  few  and 
irregular,  for  the  city  lay  off  the  great  post-road  leading 
from  Frankfort  to  Leipsic.  A  wall  with  four  gates  en- 
closed the  few  hundred  little  houses,  above  which  towered 

254 


^be  TOelmar  Court  of  tbe  riDusee      255 

church,  town  hall,  and  a  few  of  the  more  stately  govern- 
ment buildings.  The  most  stately  of  these,  the  castle,  had 
for  a  year  and  a  half  lain  in  ashes,  which  increased  the 
desolate  appearance  of  the  place.  The  natural  environs, 
too,  offered  little  relief  to  the  sad  picture.  The  narrow 
Ilm  wound  its  way  modestly  along  the  eastern  side  through 
a  valley  of  meadows,  extending  between  rolling  hills 
covered  with  cultivated  fields,  pastures,  and  woodland. 

Hither  came  Goethe  from  what  might,  for  that  time,  be 
considered  a  great  and  busy  city,  whose  proud  cathedral 
cast  its  reflection  in  a  broad  river  teeming  with  boats, 
while  all  about  lay  a  wreath  of  orchards  and  vineyards, 
where  the  breezes  were  gentler  than  here  in  this  hilly 
region. 

And  yet  this  little  corner  of  Thuringia  became  infinitely 
dear  to  him.  Everything  else  which  he  may  have  missed 
was  more  than  compensated  for  by  the  influential  posi- 
tion which  he  occupied,  and  by  the  circle  of  select  people 
into  which  he  was  received.  If  on  his  arrival  the  intel- 
lectual culture  of  the  city  had  revealed  itself  to  him  by 
some  magic  radiation  of  light  he  would  have  been  as  pleas- 
antly astonished,  as  is  the  wanderer  nowadays,  when, 
through  the  darkness  of  evening,  he  suddenly  sees  the  glow 
of  electric  lights  shining  out  of  the  little  brown  wooden 
huts  of  an  Alpine  village.  This  culture  was  less  famous 
for  great  products  than  for  a  noble,  free  humanity,  such  as 
was  by  no  means  common  in  Germany  and  at  a  prince's 
court  was  almost  unique.  It  was  brought  into  being  by 
the  mother  of  the  Duke,  Anna  Amalia. 

The  Milanese  honoured  Duke  Karl  August,  on  his  visit 
in  181 7,  by  having  a  commemorative  medal  struck  with 
the  inscription,  '' il  principe  uomo.''  The  same  simple  and 
yet  incomparably  illustrious  title  might  with  equal  fitness 
have  been  conferred  upon  his  mother.  And  indeed  she 
did  receive  it  from  the  one  most  worthy  to  bestow  it. 
Goethe,  who  had  the  rare  gift  of  expressing  the  quint- 
essence of  a  personality  in  a  few  words,  called  her  a  "per- 
fect princess  with  a  perfectly  human  spirit."     In  a  similar 


256  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

manner  Wieland  characterises  her  as  one  of  the  most 
amiable  and  most  glorious  combinations  of  humanity,  wo- 
manliness, and  princeliness.  When  Goethe  entered  Wei- 
mar this  distinguished  princess  was  only  thirty-six  years 
of  age,  but  her  past  life  had  been  serious,  and  rich  in 
accomplishment.  By  birth  a  Brunswick  princess,  niece  of 
Frederick  the  Great,  of  whom  she  was  a  perfect  image,  her 
youth,  spent  at  her  father's  noisy  Court,  brought  no  years 
of  joy  to  her,  for  the  family  did  not  love  her.  She  had 
hardly  entered  upon  her  seventeenth  year  when  she  was 
married  off,  "as  princesses  usually  are."  The  husband 
chosen  for  her  was  the  sickly  eighteen-year-old  Duke 
Konstantin  of  Saxe-Weimar.  After  they  had  been  married 
two  years  he  died. 

Under  the  most  trying  circumstances  this  princess, 
scarcely  more  than  a  child,  who  in  the  two  short  years  had 
become  the  mother  of  two  sons,  was  obliged  to  assume  the 
regency  of  a  country  still  suffering  from  the  painful  conse- 
quences of  the  careless  government  during  the  minority  of 
Duke  Konstantin,  as  well  as  from  the  effects  of  the  Seven 
Years'  War.  Yet,  guided  by  her  own  clear  understanding 
and  sound  feelings,  for  in  the  beginning  she  had  no  Council 
worthy  of  mention,  she  wielded  the  sceptre  with  astonishing 
assurance,  and  represented  the  interests  of  the  little  state  in 
every  quarter  clearly  and  firmly.  To  be  sure,  she  often  had 
hours  of  sore  trial,  when,  as  we  know  from  her  confessions, 
she  wrestled  with  herself  to  find  the  right  path;  and  often 
she,  who  was  later  so  serene  and  apparently  so  sceptical, 
sought  strength  for  her  tasks  in  fervent  prayer.  It  was  in 
her  favour  that  her  powers  were  spurred  on  by  a  noble 
ambition,  kindled  by  the  glory  of  her  Brunswick  relatives, 
Frederick's  victorious  generals.  As  she  could  not  hope  to 
win  laurels  in  battle  she  sought  them  with  all  the  greater 
zeal  on  the  field  of  peace ;  not  merely  in  a  material  sense,  by 
striving  to  spread  abroad  order  and  prosperity,  but  still 
more  in  a  spiritual  sense,  by  opening  her  country  to  a 
higher  culture  and  refinement.  In  this  connection  we 
observe   a    remarkable   phenomenon.     Not   only    did    this 


Karl  August 
(From  Heinemann's  Goethe) 


Zhc  IKIleimar  Court  of  tbe  fIDuees       257 

woman,  who  had  grown  up  at  a  stiff,  ceremonious  Court, 
develop  the  freest  and  most  natural  humanity,  but  she  also, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  had  breathed  in  her  childhood 
home  an  atmosphere  part  Italian  and  part  French,  and  all 
her  life  long  wrote  French  more  frequently  and  more 
fluently  than  German,  became  a  pronounced  patroness  and 
partisan  of  German  literature. 

Her  endeavours  to  promote  the  intellectual  life  of  the 
country  came  into  notice  immediately  after  the  war,  as  did 
in  general  the  larger  development  of  her  graceful  spirit,  and 
her  patronage  of  the  muses.  She  brought  the  University 
of  Jena  into  greater  prominence  by  increasing  its  income 
and  by  calling  and  retaining  sound  scholars  for  its  faculty. 
She  provided  the  Ducal  Library  in  Weimar  with  its  own 
beautiful,  permanent  home,  in  the  so-called  Green  Palace, 
and  opened  it  to  general  use.  Musical  life  she  raised  from 
its  low  mechanical  state  to  a  high  artistic  plane  by  the 
engagement  of  thorough  artists  and  the  fostering  of  good 
music.  Hand  in  hand  with  this  went  her  efforts  to  secure  for 
the  theatre  in  Weimar  regular  and  dignified  performances. 
To  this  end  she  engaged,  in  1768,  Koch's  excellent  troupe, 
and,  in  1771,  Seyler's  still  more  famous  company,  which 
contained  such  stars  of  the  first  magnitude  as  Eckhof  and 
Frau  Hensel.  She  made  great  sacrifices  to  carry  out  this 
plan  because  she  was  convinced,  as  Wieland  said  in  1773, 
"  that  a  well-ordered  theatre  contributed  in  no  small  meas- 
ure to  the  unconscious  bettering  and  beautifying  of  the 
ideas,  sentiments,  taste,  and  morals  of  a  people."  Hence, 
we  are  told,  she  was  not  satisfied,  when  in  this  way  she  had 
provided  her  Court  with  the  most  respectable  entertain- 
ment, people  of  business  with  the  noblest  recreation  from 
the  duties  of  their  callings,  and  the  leisure  class  with  the 
most  harmless  pastime;  it  was  also  her  desire  that  the 
lower  classes  should  not  be  excluded  from  a  public  amuse- 
ment which  would  be  for  them  a  school  of  good  manners 
and  virtuous  sentiments.  "And  thus  Weimar  enjoys  an 
advantage  which  it  has  cause  to  be  grateful  for,  and  which 
no  other  city  in  Germany  can  boast:    it  has  a  German 


258  ZIDe  %\te  of  (Boetbc 

theatre  which  even^body  can  attend  three  times  a  week 
free  of  charge."  Unfortunately  Weimar  did  not  enjoy 
this  advantage  long;  for  with  the  burning  of  the  palace, 
the  theatre,  too,  which  had  occupied  a  part  of  it,  passed 
away.  For  years  thereafter  Thalia's  delights  were  secured 
to  a  small  circle  by  the  Ducal  Amateur  Theatre,  which  the 
Duchess  took  under  her  special  patronage,  and  for  which 
she  prepared  charming  stages  in  her  favourite  retreats. 

3n  cngen  §utten  iinb  im  reid^cn  <Bad, 
51uf  §6^en  ettergburgg,  in  Jicfurtg  SnI, 
3m  leic^tcn  3elt,  aiif  S^cppid^en  bcr  ^^rndit 
Unb  untcr  bent  ©crcolb'  ber  ^o^en  9?adU.* 

We  have  already  mentioned  the  name  of  Wieland, 
through  whose  appointment  the  Duchess  laid  the  founda- 
tion of  Weimar's  hegemony  in  the  most  flourishing  period 
of  German  literature.  She  had  become  acquainted  with 
him,  and  with  his  didactic  novel,  Der  goldene  Spiegel,  which 
dealt  with  the  education  of  princes  and  the  constitution  of 
states.  After  that,  despite  the  very  bold  opinions  which  he 
therein  expressed  concerning  Court  life,  the  duties  of  a  ruler, 
and  the  relation  between  prince  and  people,  or,  perhaps, 
because  of  them,  Wieland  seemed  to  her  a  suitable  governor 
for  her  sons,  Karl  August  and  Konstantin,  but  especially 
for  the  Crown  Prince,  and  she  sedulously  removed  every 
hindrance  in  the  way  of  his  being  called  to  the  position. 
He  came  to  assiune  the  new  duties  in  September,  1772. 
To  be  sure,  Wieland,  as  an  educator,  did  not  satisfy  the 
expectations  of  the  Princess,  but  she  was  all  the  more 
pleased  with  his  amiable,  coquettishly  graceful  poetry, 
always  brilliant  with  cheerful  colours ;  indeed,  she  doubtless 
preferred  it  to  the  deeper  and  more  serious  poetry  of  Goethe 
and  Schiller.  This  may  account  for  her  particularly  cordial 
intellectual  intercourse  with  Wieland,  lasting  till  her  death, 

*  In  crowded  huts  and  in  sumptuous  hall, 
On  heights  of  Ettersburg,  in  Tiefurt's  dale. 
On  carpets  splendid,  in  pavilions  light, 
And  under  the  vault  of  solemn  night. 


Zbc  Melniar  Court  of  tbe  HDuecs       259 

in   1807,  and  including  even  the  reading  together  of  the 
comedies  of  Aristophanes. 

When  Wieland  had  been  in  Weimar  for  two  years  Anna 
Amalia  made  another  appointment,  likewise  very  character- 
istic of  her.  Prince  Konstantin  wished  to  devote  himself  to 
the  military  service.  An  educated  officer  was  sought  to  pre- 
pare him  for  this  calling  and  was  found  in  Lieutenant  Karl 
Ludwig  von  Knebel.  For  ten  years  he  had  been  with  the 
Prussian  Guard  in  Potsdam  and  had  done  his  whole  duty 
as  a  soldier.  But  neither  the  service,  nor  the  usual  passions 
of  an  officer  had  satisfied  his  inner  longings.  The  tall 
Lieutenant  of  the  Guard  possessed  a  gentle,  meditative 
soul,  which  Uz,  an  old  family  friend  in  Ansbach,  had  early 
turned  to  poetry,  and  which  had  developed  a  tendency 
to  pessimism  by  the  reading  of  Young's  Night  Thoughts. 
When  he  returned  to  his  quarters  from  the  drill  grounds  or 
the  watchhouse  he  would  translate  from  Horace  and  Vergil, 
compose  German,  and  at  times  also  Latin,  odes,  hymns,  and 
elegies,  and  write  letters  to  his  literary  friends:  Ramler, 
Nicolai,  and  Anna  Luise  Karsch  in  Berlin,  Gleim  and  Jacobi 
in  Halberstadt,  or  Boie  in  Gottingen.  For,  as  he  wrote  his 
friend  Gilbert  after  eight  years  of  service,  a  life  without  the' 
muses  seem.ed  to  him  the  culmination  of  sadness,  while  to 
consecrate  to  the  muses  something  of  his  own  every  day  was 
the  greatest  joy.  Eight  years  made  this  visionary,  poetising 
officer  tired  of  the  garrison  duty  in  Potsdam,  which  held 
him  "involuntarily  in  admiration  and  fear  of  the  great' 
king."  He  resigned  and  returned  home  via  Weimar,  where 
he  wished  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Wieland,  of  whom 
he  had  so  long  been  an  admirer.  On  this  occasion  he  was 
presented  to  the  Duchess  and  to  Minister  von  Fritsch,  who 
were  soon  agreed  that  he  was  the  man  qualified  for  the 
further  education  of  Prince  Konstantin.  In  October,  1774, 
he  became  military  instructor  to  the  Prince.  The  society 
of  Weimar  received  in  him  one  of  its  most  valuable  members.- 
A  profound  and  good  soul,  filled  with  a  genuine  love  of 
nature,  science,  and  poetry ;  a  clever  observer  of  the  world 
and  of  men;    distrustful  of  himself,  for  which  reason  he 


26o  Zhc  Xife  of  6oetbe 

could  advise  others  better  than  himself;  "a  wise  sulker," 
and  yet  not  a  spoiler  of  others'  mirth ;  quiet  and  peaceable, 
and  although  an  intimate  friend  of  the  best  people  and  those 
highest  in  authority,  wholly  without  vanity  and  ambition. 

How  little  he  allowed  his  mind  to  become  fettered  by 
habit,  and  how  open  he  remained  to  everything  new,  in  as 
far  as  it  was  great,  was  illustrated  by  his  bearing  toward 
Goethe.  He,  whose  favourite  poet  had  been  smooth, 
pathetic  Ramler,  and  who  had  felt  benefited  by  the  cool, 
rationalistic  air  of  Berlin,  turned  with  enthusiasm  to  Goethe 
after  the  appearance  of  Gotz  and  Werther,  and  made  use  of 
the  first  opportunity  to  come  into  closer  touch  with  him. 

A  third  princes'  governor  who  played  a  certain  role  in 
the  first  years  after  Goethe's  arrival  was  Count  Goertz,  who 
later  distinguished  himself  as  Prussian  Ambassador  at  im- 
portant posts.  His  position  with  the  princes  was  much 
older,  and,  at  the  same  time,  higher  than  that  of  Wieland 
and  Knebel.  Educated  at  the  Universities  of  Ley  den  and 
Strasburg,  he  had  been  chosen,  when  but  twenty-five  years 
of  age,  by  the  Duchess  as  governor  of  her  sons.  As  to  his 
talents  and  wide  knowledge  Weimar  opinion  was  unani- 
mous, but  as  to  his  character  opinions  differed.  A  number 
of  persons  of  importance  judged  him  very  unfavourably. 
And,  indeed,  if  we  examine  his  conduct  in  Weimar,  we 
discover  the  picture  of  a  clever,  calculating  diplomat,  who 
knew  how  to  conceal  his  egotistical  aims  and  impulses 
beneath  the  airs  of  a  bel  esprit,  who  flattered  all  who  could 
be  of  use  to  him,  and  was  complaisant  to  everybody  in 
public,  while  in  private  he  intrigued  against  every  one  who 
was  not  in  sympathy  with  his  nature  and  interests.  Duchess 
Amalia  and  Wieland,  at  first  very  devoted  to  him,  later 
despised  him.  The  former  also  accused  him  of  having 
thoroughly  spoiled  Karl  August,  and  it  greatly  displeased 
her  that  her  daughter-in-law  made  him  her  Lord  Steward,  in 
which  position  he  remained  in  Weimar  till  the  end  of  1777. 

Of  entirely  different  stamp  was  Amalia's  chief  servant, 
the  president  of  the  Privy  Council,  Minister  von  Fritsch, 
with  whom  Goethe  was  to  enter  into  closest  official  rela- 


^be  Meimar  Court  of  tbc  flDusee      261 

tions.  Son  of  the  scholarly,  far-seeing  statesman,  Minister 
von  Fritsch,  of  the  Electorate  of  Saxony,  excellently  pre- 
pared for  the  administrative  service  by  Count  von  Biinau, 
vice-regent  in  Eisenach,  a  close  acquaintance  of  Winckel- 
mann,  at  that  time  the  Count's  librarian  in  Nothnitz,  he 
had  early  attracted  the  attention  of  the  Duchess,  and 
gradually  became  her  most  faithful  and  valued  councillor. 
At  the  same  time  his  personality  was  by  no  means  agree- 
able to  princes.  In  a  letter  to  Karl  August  he  himself 
confessed  that  he  had  too  much  roughness  in  his  manners, 
too  much  seriousness,  often  bordering  on  moroseness, 
too  much  inflexibility,  and  too  little  consideration  for  pre- 
valent tastes,  to  be  able  to  make  a  pleasing  impression  at 
Court.  This  self-characterisation  is  confirmed  by  Goethe, 
who  says  of  him  that  he  had  nothing  easy  or  refined  in  his 
manners  and  was  apparently  harsh  and  stiff.  Goethe  adds 
"apparently"  advisedly,  for,  in  reality,  this  man  had  a 
tender  heart  which  he  often  manifested  in  a  way  that  did  him 
great  honour.  He  was  further  noted  for  a  lively  interest  in 
education,  a  clear  understanding,  unwavering  love  of  truth, 
honour,  unselfishness,  and  industry,  and  an  exactness  in  the 
performance  of  his  duties  that  bordered  on  pedantry.  For 
the  sake  of  such  virtues  Amalia  and  Karl  August  were 
willing  to  overlook  the  corners  and  edges  of  his  nature ;  for 
they  were  obliged  to  admit  that  the  peculiarities  of  the  man 
which  were  unpleasant  to  them  were  most  closely  related 
to  his  agreeable  qualities. 

A  more  cheerful  figure  at  the  Weimar  Court  was  the 
chamberlain,  Hildebrand  von  Einsiedel,  who  by  his  great 
cordiality  won  the  nickname  of  "I'ami,"  and  was  an  in- 
dispensable member  of  the  social  circle.  He  composed  neat 
pasquinades  and  operettas,  was  an  actor,  a  musician,  a 
master  at  billiards,  loved  cards,  and  was  ready  for  any 
merry  prank.  He  was  proverbially  absent-minded,  and 
over  his  music  w^ould  forget  any  engagement  or  invitation. 
But  back  of  these  brilliant  social  qualities  there  was  a  ster- 
ling character,  which  was  early  appreciated,  as  is  shown  by 
his  appointment  as  associate  justice  of  the  Superior  Court 


262  Zbc  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

in  Jena.  As  president  of  this  Superior  Court,  which  was 
later  changed  to  the  Supreme  Appellate  Court,  he  developed 
a  varied  literary  activity  and  lived  to  a  ripe  old  age. 

Among  the  younger  members  of  the  Court  circle  at  the 
time  of  Goethe's  arrival  were:  Chamberlain  von  Kalb  (it 
was  he  who  escorted  Goethe  to  Weimar),  intellectual  and 
clever,  but  insincere;  Head  Forester  von  Wedel,  usually 
called  "der  schone  Wedel,"  "a  frank  fellow  and  a  good 
hunter,"  attractive  because  of  his  dry  wit,  the  playmate  of 
Karl  August  in  early  youth ;  and  Chamberlain  von  Secken- 
dorff,  formerly  lieutenant  colonel  in  Sardinia,  like  Einsiedel 
a  poet,  translator,  and  composer,  but  superior  to  him  in 
talent.  Goethe  has  portrayed  him  vividly  in  Ilmenau,^'- 
with  his  long,  finely  shaped  limbs,  which  in  his  ecstatic 
laziness  he  stretches  out  in  all  directions,  while  he  with 
great  fervour  sings  a  monotonous  song  about  the  dance  of 
the  heavenly  spheres. 

Not  belonging  to  the  nobility,  but  yet  closely  associated 
with  the  Court,  were  Musaus  and  Bertuch. 

Musaus,  at  first  pages'  tutor,  then  teacher  in  the  Gym- 
nasium, had  originally  studied  theology,  but  had  lost  his 
parish  by  dancing  in  public.  His  droll  hiunour  stands  out  as 
prominently  in  his  life  as  in  his  writings  and  on  the  amateur 
stage.  He  is  still  known  by  his  Volksmdrchen  der  Deutschen. 
Even  before  the  publication  of  these  tales  he  had  acquired 
a  literary  reputation  by  his  two  satirical  novels,  Grandison 
der  Zweite  and  Physio gnomische  Reisen.  For  the  latter 
work  Goethe  gave  him  this  rap  on  the  fingers:  "The 
muses  say  one  thing,  Musaus  says  another." 

Bertuch,  a  native  of  Weimar,  was  a  rare  combination  of 
scholarship,  poetic  talent,  and  commercial  aptness.  Origin- 
ally a  theologian,  then  a  jurist,  he  received  in  1775  the 
influential  position  of  councillor  and  private  secretary  to 
the  Duke,  a  position  which  gave  him  charge  of  the  Duke's 
finances.  He  established  his  right  to  membership  in  the 
Court  of  the  Muses  by  means  of  a  collection  of  Wiegenlieder 
(1772),  among  which  "A  little  lamb  as  white  as  snow"  is 
still  to-day  the  delight  of  German  children,  the  tragedy 


Zbc  Mcimav  Court  of  tbc  nDueee       263 

Elfriede  (1773),  a  translation  of  Don  Quixote  (1775-1779), 
and  many  other  writings.  His  later  literary  efforts  were 
more  of  a  commercial  nature,  among  them  the  Bilderbuch 
fur  Kinder,  which  has  become  so  popular.  In  the  Bureau 
of  National  Industries  his  success  was  brilliant.  As  long 
as  he  was  an  officer  at  Coiirt  he  was  always  busy,  and  there 
was  no  one  who  did  not  occasionally  need  his  services. 
This  developed  in  him  a  self-satisfied  arrogance  which  grew 
more  and  more  vexatious  to  Goethe,  who  was  at  first  on 
intimate  terms  with  him. 

In  the  same  group  belongs  the  painter,  and  later  director 
of  the  Weimar  Institute  of  Drawing,  Georg  Melchior  Kraus, 
a  fellow-countryman  of  Goethe's,  whose  facile,  pleasing 
talent  had  been  cultivated  in  Paris.  Goethe  characterises 
him  as  a  most  agreeable  social  companion.  "Even-tem- 
pered cheerfulness  accompanied  him  everywhere;  obliging 
ing  without  humility,  dignified  without  pride,  he  was  every- 
where at  home,  everywhere  a  favourite,  the  busiest  and,  at 
the  same  time,  most  comfortable  of  all  mortals." 

If  we  mention  in  passing  Travel  Director  von  Klinkow- 
strom,  Master  of  the  Horse  von  Stein,  Chamberlain  von 
Werthem,  Duchess  Amalia's  private  secretary  Ludecus, 
Director  of  the  Orchestra  Wolff,  Chamber-musician  Kranz, 
we  have,  with  the  exception  of  the  Duke,  exhausted  the 
circle  of  men  with  whom  Goethe  came  into  immediate 
contact  in  Weimar. 

In  passing  from  the  men  to  the  women,  we  find,  beside 
Duchess  Amalia,  the  tender  young  Duchess  Luise,  consort 
of  Karl  August.  She  is  almost  completely  crowded  into  the 
background  by  the  masculine,  active,  brilliant  personality 
of  her  mother-in-law.  Her  quiet  nature  was  little  suited  to 
the  Court  of  Weimar.  Her  tender  heart  took  ever>'thing 
very  hard.  Every  little  offence  and  ever\^  discomfort 
vexed  her  and  made  her  withdraw  into  herself.  So  it  came 
about  that  because  of  her  noble  qualities  she  won  every- 
body's respect,  but,  because  of  her  bitter  reser\'e,  enjoyed 
nobody's  friendship.  Even  Goethe,  who  after  meeting  her 
in  Karlsruhe  devoted  to  her  a  heart  full  of  joyous  love, 


264  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

gradually  became  cold  because  of  her  infelicitous  manner. 
This  manner  was  still  more  repulsive  to  her  aggressive 
husband,  and  their  married  life  soon  took  on  an  unrefresh- 
ing  aspect.  "She  shone  as  an  eclipsed  star,"  is  Knebel's 
apt  characterisation  of  her.  Only  in  critical  moments  did 
this  star  flame  forth;  then  her  nature  arose  to  heroic 
greatness.  When  the  catastrophe  of  1806  broke  over  the 
coimtry  she,  by  her  firm,  majestic  bearing,  saved  Weimar 
from  destruction  and  the  ducal  house  from  annihilation. 
"Voilk  une  femme  a  laquelle  meme  nos  deux  cent  canons 
n'ont  pu  faire  peur!"  said  Napoleon  to  Rapp  at  the  time. 

Next  to  her,  and  in  many  respects  resembling  her,  was 
Charlotte  von  Stein,  wife  of  the  Master  of  the  Horse.  As 
we  shall  have  occasion  to  devote  special  attention  to  this 
eminent  woman,  suffice  it  here  to  allow  her  to  shine  out  as 
a  meteor,  as  her  light  once  before  quickly  flashed  before 
our  eyes. 

In  contrast  with  the  serious  characters  of  the  Duch- 
ess and  Frau  von  Stein  is  the  joyous,  mischievous  "little 
gnome,"  Luise  von  Gochhausen,  lady  in  waiting  to  Duchess 
Amalia,  with  the  nickname  Thusnelda,  a  small,  misshapen, 
sensible,  good-natured  mocker,  of  strong  intellect  and  fine 
taste,  as  is  best  shown  by  her  letters  from  Italy.  "Plenty 
of  genius,  but  can  do  nothing!"  she  said  jokingly  of  herself. 
To  her  poetic  interest  and  her  admiration  for  Goethe  we  owe 
the  preservation  of  the  Urfaust  and  the  booklet  Annette, 
for  which  she  will  always  be  remembered. 

Another  piquant  member  of  the  society — but  in  a  differ- 
ent sense — was  Baroness  Emilie  von  Werthem-Beichlingen, 
who  grew  up  in  London,  as  the  daughter  of  the  Hanoverian 
minister  von  Miinchhausen,  and  in  1773  was  married  to 
Chamberlain  von  Werthern,  who  was  considerably  her 
elder.  Sensuous,  fiery,  very  beautiful,  she  lacked  neither 
admirers  nor  the  inclination  to  indulge  their  homage. 
With  the  most  persevering  of  them.  Lieutenant  von 
Einsicdel,  Councillor  of  Mines,  and  brother  of  Chamberlain 
von  Einsiedel,  she  eloped  to  Africa  in  1784,  after  having 
previously  risked  the  adventure  of  a  sham  burial. 


ITbe  IKHdmar  Court  of  tbc  flDusce      265 

Of  nobler  type  was  the  beautiful  Countess  Jeannette 
Luise  von  Werthem  auf  Neunheiligen,  whom  we  here 
mention  as  a  representative  of  the  country  gentry.  Bom 
Baroness  von  Stein,  sister  of  the  reformer  of  Prussia, 
aristocratic,  very  dainty,  refined,  soulful,  and  "most 
amiable,"  she  was  the  woman  from  whom  Goethe  learned 
genteel  manners.  "She  has  in  the  art  of  living  what  in 
every  art  is  called  genius."  Her  copy  in  Wilhelm  Meister, 
the  Countess,  bears  uncommonly  gentle  features. 

Goethe  himself  brought  another  "angel"  to  Weimar, 
when  he  had  been  there  hardly  a  year,  in  the  person  of 
the  actress  and  singer.  Corona  Schroter.  He  still  retained 
pleasant  memories  of  her  from  his  Leipsic  days,  and  when 
he  saw  her  again  in  March,  1776,  was  all  aflame,  and  in 
August  induced  Karl  August  to  call  her  to  Weimar  as 
chamber  singer.     Of  queenly  Greek  appearance, 

5II§  cine  S?hime  jcigt  fie  fid)  bcr  3BcIt, 
3nm  9.Uuftcr  roiid)^  bn^  fd)5nc  5^ilb  cmpor. 
9.^oUcnbct  nun,  fie  ift'e>  unb  ftcllt  ce  nor. 
©^  gonntcn  i^r  bie  9Jhifcn  jcbe  ©iinft, 
Unb  bie  9latur  crfd)uf  in  '\\)x  bie  ^nnft.* 

Wieland  expressed  himself  no  less  strongly:  "There  [in 
the  park]  we  found  Goethe  in  company  with  the  beautiful 
Corona  Schroter,  who  in  the  infinitely  noble  Attic  elegance 
of  her  whole  figure,  and  in  her  quite  simple,  yet  infinitely 
recherche  and  insidious  costume,  looked  like  the  nymph 
of  this  charming  grotto."  "The  muses  did  to  her  each 
grace  impart."  With  an  entrancing  voice  she  combined 
great  histrionic  talent;  she  was  a  player  and  composer  of 
music,  and  set,  for  example,  Goethe's  Fischerin  (including 
the  Erlkonig)  to  music;  she  painted  with  skill,  as  we  can 
see  by  her  portrait  of  herself  as  Iphigenia,  which,  with  its 
rosy  cheeks,   lustrous,   limpid  eyes,   and  charming,   senti- 

*  Unto  the  world  she  like  a  bloom  appears, 
Is  beauty's  model  in  its  finished  state. 
She,  perfect,  doth  perfection  personate. 
The  muses  did  to  her  each  grace  impart, 
And  nature  in  her  soul  created  art. 


266  zi)c  %\tc  Of  6oetbe 

mental  expression,  inspires  even  us  of  to-day  with  a  longing 
to  see  her.  "  Die  Krone,"  as  she  was  called  ("  And  e'en  thy 
name,  Corona,  graces  thee")  touched  the  hearts  of  many 
men,  and  in  Goethe's  she  occupied  a  favoured  spot  for  sev- 
eral years  by  the  side  of  Frau  von  Stein.  Einsiedel  was  for 
years  passionately  in  love  with  her,  and  probably  the  only 
reason  for  their  not  being  married  was  his  hopeless  financial 
ruin. 

Her  esteemed  colleagues  were  the  wife  of  Wolff,  con- 
ductor of  the  orchestra,  Frau  Steinhardt,  and  Demoiselle 
Neuhauss,  who  were  joined  a  few  years  later  by  Fraulein 
von  Rudorff  ("die  Rudel"),  who  captured  the  "wise 
sulker,"  Knebel. 

If  we  return  to  the  "higher"  regions,  there  is  only  one 
very  prominent  woman  still  to  be  mentioned,  "little  Frau 
Schardt,"  the  wife  of  Frau  von  Stein's  brother,  Privy 
Councillor  Schardt.  Bom  Countess  Bemstorff,  after  the 
early  death  of  her  parents  she  was  brought  up  in  the  home 
of  her  cousin,  the  Danish  Minister  of  State.  There  she  had 
breathed  the  poetical  air  of  humanity  that  prevailed  in  the 
Bemstorff  household.  After  her  marriage,  in  May,  1776, 
she  was  soon  joined  by  her  foster-mother  and  the  latter's 
business  agent,  the  portly  Bode,  Lessing's  friend.  As  a 
follower  of  Klopstock  she  showed  more  inclination  for 
Herder's  soul-felt  prophesying  than  for  Goethe's  idealising 
realism.  Herder  on  his  part  cultivated  a  very  warm 
Platonic  friendship  with  the  sentimental  and  somewhat 
complacent  little  woman.  Finally  we  may  mention  further 
Duchess  Luise's  Mistress  of  the  Robes,  the  long-nosed,  stiff 
Countess  Gianini ;  her  ladies  in  waiting,  von  Wollwart  and 
von  Waldner;  young  Frau  von  Kalb,  Lady  of  the  Bed- 
chamber to  Duchess  Amalia;  the  widow  of  Legation 
Councillor  Kotzebue,  mother  of  the  well-known  author; 
and  her  amiable  daughter  Amalie. 

At  the  head  of  this  great,  varied  circle  of  men  and 
women  stood  Karl  August,  into  whose  hands  his  mother, 
the  Duchess  Amalia,  had  given  over  the  reins  of  govern- 
ment on  the  third  day  of  September,  1775. 


o 
C5 


Zbc  "CClcimar  Court  of  tbc  flDuecs       267 

Next  to  Frederick  II.  of  Prussia,  Karl  August  was  -with- 
out  question  the  greatest  prince  in  Germany.  Goethe  says 
of  him  that  he  was  bom  a  great  man.  The  Prussian 
King  said  of  him  at  the  age  of  fourteen:  "  I  have  never  yet 
seen  a  young  man  of  his  age  who  gave  grounds  for  such 
great  hopes,"  while  Wieland  found  in  the  fifteen-year-old 
boy  all  of  the  qualities  out  of  which  fate  is  accustomed  to 
make  great  men.  "Heaven  grant,"  he  added,  "that  he 
may  not  become  too  great  for  the  welfare  of  his  country ! ' ' 

It  was  indeed  a  gross  absurdity  that  this  great  Prince 
was  destined  to  rule  over  a  diminutive  country,  which,  with 
its  733  square  miles,  offered  such  a  tiny  field  for  the  ex- 
ploitation of  his  desire  for  great  achievements.  Yet  this 
very  limitation  became  a  source  of  blessing;  for  as  his 
pent-up  energ\^  could  not  be  fully  expended  on  material 
and  tangible  things  he  was  the  more  compelled  to  seek  in 
the  intellectual  sphere  the  recognition  to  which  his  powers 
entitled  him.  And  so  he  continued  the  work  of  his  mother 
in  most  brilliant  fashion.  In  this  undertaking  he  was  aided 
by  the  liberal  education  which  he  had  acquired  in  order  to 
satisfy  the  deep  longings  of  his  heart,  not  for  the  sake  of 
making  a  fine  appearance,  as  is  so  often  the  case  with 
princes.  Despising  every  kind  of  hollow  show,  he  wished 
to  appear  to  be  only  what  he  was:  in  fact  he,  like  Goethe, 
enjoyed  appearing  to  be  less  than  he  was. 

"  In  ever>^thing  I  did,"  says  Goethe,  "  he  took  a  thorough 
interest."  This  indicates  his  attitude  toward  poetr>',  art, 
and  the  natural  sciences.  His  knowledge  of  the  natural 
sciences  grew  in  time  to  be  so  thorough  and  extensive  as  to 
astonish  even  an  Alexander  von  Himiboldt.  His  love  of  art 
was  manifested  in  his  zeal  in  making  collections  and  in 
giving  support  to  artists,  as  w^ell  as  in  the  genuine  pleas- 
ure which  the  beauty  in  meritorious  works  afforded  him. 
"Day  before  yesterday  Goethe  gave  me  a  couple  of  Els- 
heimers,"  he  wrote  to  Merck  in  1 781,  .  .  .  "they  are 
so  dear  to  me  that  they  almost  never  leave  my  side,  must 
always  stand  beside  my  desk  and  inspire  me  with  thoughts 
of  beauty,  when  I  am  likely  to  be  smoked  too  much  at  the 


268  tTbe  %itc  of  (Boetbe 

fiery  forge  of  human  life."  Concerning  the  Sistine  Madonna 
he  wrote  to  Knebel  in  October,  1782:  "My  feelings  in  the 
presence  of  the  Raphael  which  adorns  the  Dresden  Gallery 
were  not  unlike  those  when  one  has  climbed  the  whole 
day  up  to  the  summit  of  St.  Gothard,  passed  through  the 
Umer  Loch,  and  now  suddenly  looks  out  upon  the  blooming 
green  Urseren  Tal.  As  often  as  I  looked  at  it  and  then 
turned  away  it  seemed  to  me  like  a  vision  before  my  soul; 
even  the  most  beautiful  Correggios  were  to  me  only  human 
pictures,  and  my  memory  of  them,  like  their  beautiful 
forms,  sensibly  palpable.  But  Raphael  always  remained 
with  me  merely  as  a  breath,  as  one  of  those  visions  which 
the  gods  send  to  us  in  womanly  form  to  make  us  happy  or 
imhappy,  as  the  images  which  come  to  us  in  our  dreams,  in 
waking  hours  and  in  sleep,  and  which,  once  seen,  gaze  at  us 
continually,  day  and  night,  and  stir  our  deepest  emotions." 

To  poetry  he  was  almost  as  delicately  responsive  as  he 
was  to  painting.  He  himself  possessed  a  thoroughly  poetic 
temperament,  even  though  in  later  years  it  was  less  fre- 
quently manifested.  On  an  evening  in  July,  1780,  after  a 
week's  visit  from  the  Duke  of  Gotha,  he  wrote  from  a  hut  in 
the  park:  "The  day  was  quite  extraordinarily  beautiful, 
and  the  first  free  evening  (for  the  Gothas  left  this  morning) 
was  a  great  joy  to  me.  I  stole  about  through  the  entrances 
to  the  'kalte  Kiiche'  [part  of  the  park]  and  was  in  such 
close  communion  with  nature  and  so  far  away  from  earthly 
cares.  Man  is,  after  all,  not  intended  for  the  miserable 
humdrum  of  business  life ;  for  one's  soul  never  expands  as 
when  one  thus  watches  the  sun  go  down,  the  stars  come  out, 
and  sees  and  feels  the  evening  grow  cooler,  and  this  all  so 
much  for  its  own  sake,  and  so  little  for  the  sake  of  men,  and 
yet  they  enjoy  it  and  that,  too,  so  keenly  that  they  think 
it  is  for  them.  I  will  bathe  with  the  evening  star  and  gain 
new  Hfe.     .     .     . 

"  I  went  to  the  river's  bank.  The  water  was  cold,  for 
night  lay  already  on  its  bosom.  It  seemed  as  if  one  were 
going  down  into  the  cool  night.  As  I  took  my  first  step  in, 
it  was  so  pure,  so  like  the  darkness  of  night ;   up  over  the 


Zbc  "CCleimar  Court  of  tbe  HDusee       269 

hill  beyond  Upper  Weimar  came  the  full,  red  moon.  It  was 
so  completely  quiet.  One  could  hear  only  Wedel's  French 
horns  from  afar,  and  the  quiet  distance  probably  made  me 
hear  purer  tones  than  issued  from  the  instruments." 

In  such  utterances  one  feels  as  if  Goethe  were  speaking, 
and  his  spirit  certainly  did  permeate  his  pupil.  But  what 
an  affinity  of  spirits  was  required  to  give  back  such  a 
brilliant  reflection! 

We  can  recognise  the  Duke's  poetic  and,  at  the  same 
time,  idealistic  temperament  still  more  clearly  in  a  remark- 
able letter  which  he  directed  to  Knebel  in  October,  1781. 
Because  Knebel  could  no  longer  serve  the  duchy  in  any 
tangible  way  in  return  for  the  salary  which  he  was  receiving 
he  was  thinking  of  seeking  an  appointment  elsewhere.  This 
occasioned  a  letter  from  the  Duke,  which,  among  other 
things,  contained  the  following:  "Are  those,  pray,  who 
enjoy  thy  friendship,  thy  society,  so  slavish,  are  their  needs 
so  predominantly  physical,  that  thou  canst  be  of  use  to 
them  only  by  digging,  hoeing,  cleaning  out  the  stable,  and 
scribbling  documents?  Is  the  receptacle  of  their  souls  so 
small  that  thou  canst  find  no  space  in  them  into  which  thou 
canst  pour  the  beautiful,  good,  and  great  things,  which  thy 
soul  has  treasured  up,  to  better  and  ennoble  their  inner 
lives?  Are  we  so  hungry  that  thou  must  toil  for  o\ir  bread, 
so  timid  and  unstable  that  thou  must  labour  for  our  security? 
Are  we  incapable  of  other  joys  than  those  of  the  table  and 
rest?  Can  we  not  find  pleasure,  if  thou,  freer  from  the  dirt 
and  foul  odour  of  the  world's  machiner>^  devote  thy  whole 
time  to  the  culling  of  bouquets  from  the  flowers  of  life  and 
presenting  them  to  us,  who  have  no  time  to  gather  them? 
Are  our  valleys  so  arid  that  we  have  no  need  of  a  lovely 
fountain  to  gather  their  tiny,  trickling  rills  into  a  beautiful 
stream  that  we  may  enjoy  them?  Are  we  good  for  nothing 
but  anvils  of  time  and  fate,  and  can  we  endure  nothing  about 
us  but  blocks  which  resemble  us,  and  are  of  a  hard  and 
very  durable  texture?  .  .  .  The  souls  of  men  are  like 
constantly  cultivated  soil;  is  it  degrading  to  be  a  careful 
gardener,  who  spends  his  time  in  searching  foreign  lands  for 


2  70  tTbe  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

different  kinds  of  seeds,  selecting  and  sowing  them?  Is  it 
so  short  a  task  to  procure  and  select  this  seed?  Must  he  not 
at  the  same  time  ply  his  trade  as  a  smith  in  order  that  he 
may  well  rotmd  out  his  Hfe?"  A  man  who  can  write  thus 
is  not  merely  a  lover  of  poetry,  he  has  poetry  in  him. 

It  is  also  a  beautiful  evidence  of  Karl  August's  poetic 
feeHng  that  he  prized  Goethe's  poetry  above  everything 
else.  But,  much  as  he  admired  it,  his  admiration  did  not 
make  him  uncritical.  His  judgment  was  always  independ- 
ent, and  not  infrequently  very  severe,  for  example,  in  the 
case  of  Egniont.  It  is  in  accordance  with  his  sterHng  nature 
that  in  poetry  he  attached  the  greatest  value  to  the  sub- 
stance, and  that  for  works  in  which  he  thought  he  discovered 
empty  pathos  or  straining  for  effect  he  showed  an  outspoken 
aversion.  Many  of  Schiller's  poems  had  to  suffer  imder  his 
strong  disapproval. 

His  views,  which  embrace  even  peculiarities  of  style  and 
rhythm,  do  not  always  coincide  with  ours.  It  is  the  most 
preposterous  thing  imaginable,  however,  to  say  that  he  had 
no  understanding  of  poetry,  merely  because  he  thought 
little  of  a  work  of  Goethe  or  Schiller,  which  to-day  is 
celebrated,  or  because  he  esteemed  one  highly  which  to-day 
has  fallen  in  value. 

If  after  these  amplifications  it  should  appear  as  if  Karl 
August  were  a  delicately  wrought  personality,  active  only 
in  spiritual  things,  this  impression  would  be  very  deceptive. 
On  the  contrary,  his  nature  was  from  the  very  beginning 
that  of  a  hot-blooded,  sturdy,  sensuous  huntsman  and 
soldier.  To  grow  weary  from  riding  his  hunting  horses  all 
day  long  over  hedges  and  ditches,  through  rivers,  and  up 
into  the  mountains,  and  then  camp  at  night  under  the  open 
sky,  was  just  to  his  fancy.  Though  his  restlessness  later 
subsided,  his  roughness  and  sturdiness  clung  to  him,  so  that 
even  in  his  advanced  years  he  still  retained  something  of  his 
youthful  frolicsomeness  in  intimate  circles.  This  trait  was 
still  more  clearly  shown  in  his  fondness  for  a  joke,  and  in 
that  he  usually  gave  a  rude  one  the  preference. 

Never  did  there  dwell  so  closely  together  in  the  breast  of 


tTbc  IKIldmar  Court  of  tbc  flDueea       271 

'  man  two  souls,  the  one  of  which  clung  with  delight  to  low 
things,  while  the  other  soared  to  the  realms  of  the  gods. 
From  the  most  insipid  fun,  the  wildest  pleasure,  the  most 
daring  ride,  the  most  noisy  bustle  of  the  day,  he  could  pass 
immediately  to  the  deepest,  most  serious,  most  refined 
things  that  stir  our  souls. 

In  keeping  with  the  sturdiness  of  his  nature  was  his  love 
of  simplicity  and  primitiveness.  When  he  came  to  the 
throne  the  Ducal  Palace  was  a  heap  of  ashes.  He  calmly 
allowed  fifteen  years  to  pass  by  before  he  thought  of  re- 
building, and  contented  himself  the  while  with  the  scantily 
appointed  Fiirstenhaus.  Indeed  its  rooms  were  often  too 
elegant  for  him,  and  he  would  move  out  and  live  for  days 
and  weeks  in  a  little  wooden  cabin  (called  "Kloster"  or 
"  Borkenhauschen")  in  the  park,  which  nowadays  seems 
fit  only  for  a  tool-house  for  garden  implements. 

He  hated  Court  restraint  and  Court  manners,  and  at  his 
own  Court  he  broke  the  rules  of  etiquette  in  every  way  and 
as  often  as  he  could.  Once  when  he  was  for  several  days 
at  the  ceremonious  Court  of  Brunswick  he  suffered  down- 
right agony.  On  that  occasion  Goethe  said:  "A  fairy 
could  do  him  no  greater  service  than  by  transforming  this 
palace  into  a  charcoal-burner's  hut."  He  dressed  himself, 
too,  as  a  plain  burgher,  with  nothing  more  than  a  military 
cap  to  betray  his  different  rank. 

As  a  faithful  son  of  his  mother,  as  a  disciple  of  Rousseau 
and  Goethe,  he  wished  to  be  a  man,  not  a  prince.  Hence 
the  Milanese,  in  calling  him  "  principe  uomo,''  expressed 
with  pregnant  brevity  the  central  feature  of  his  character. 
Not  only  did  he  order  his  life  in  accordance  with  purely 
human  standards,  he  also  applied  them  to  all  affairs  of  state, 
and  in  this  respect  was  far  in  advance  of  his  officials  and 
subjects,  who  held  fast  to  traditions.  A  remark  which  he 
once  made  to  Knebel  is  very  characteristic:  "For  the 
last  few  days  I  have  been  spending  my  time  in  reading 
the  transactions  of  the  Consistory  since  1762  concern- 
ing suggestions  for  improvements  and  inspections  of  the 
Weimar  Gymnasium.     That  the  most  human  of  all  human 


272  Zbc  %\tc  of  6oetbe 

conceptions,  the  education  of  men,  should  be  presented  in 
the  style  of  legal  documents  and  modo  voti  is  incredible. 
If  a  man  had  no  conception  of  a  human  treatment  of  such 
a  subject  he  could  not  help  forming  it  from  its  contrary,  as 
soon  as  he  read  these  docimients." 

With  such  convictions,  it  was  natural  that  all  his  reforms 
had  a  modem,  philanthropic,  popular  tendency,  and  that  he 
was  the  first  among  the  German  princes  to  redeem  the 
promise,  contained  in  the  act  of  the  German  Confederation, 
to  grant  a  state  constitution.  This  voluntary  division  of 
his  power  was  certainly  not  an  easy  step  for  his  autocratic, 
headstrong  nature;  but  to  the  iron  will  with  which  he 
executed  everything  that  he  recognised  as  right  he  made 
himself  bow.  He  had  a  great  many  inner  struggles,  es- 
pecially in  the  beginning  of  his  reign,  when  youthful  un- 
certainty and  passion,  inherited  views  and  hobbies  often 
caused  him  to  deviate  from  his  high  and  noble  purposes. 
But  every  year  the  victory  became  easier  for  him,  and  he 
worked  with  increasing  steadfastness  and  zeal  at  the  hb- 
eration  and  rejuvenation  of  the  State  of  Weimar.  Goethe, 
who  was  in  advance  of  him  in  youth,  was  imable  to  keep 
pace  with  his  rapid  progress  in  old  age. 

His  progressive  nature,  which  early  made  the  duchy  a 
tower  of  poHtical  and  religious  liberality,  also  made  itself 
felt  in  the  economic  field.  "  He  sought  to  introduce  in  his 
own  country  all  the  great  new  institutions  and  inventions. 
If  a  thing  failed  it  received  no  further  mention,  and  he 
immediately  took  up  something  new."  His  art  of  govern- 
ing was  further  aided  and  fructified  by  "his  ability  to  dis- 
tinguish intellects  and  characters  and  put  each  in  its  right 
place"  (Goethe  to  Eckermann). 

Aided  by  this  gift,  by  his  high-mindedness,  and  by  other 
rich  endowments  he  succeeded  not  only  in  drawing  to  his 
Court  the  leading  spirits  of  the  nation,  but,  what  is  far  more, 
in  keeping  them  there  permanently. 

In  this  way  he  made  Weimar  a  centre  of  culture,  which 
cast  its  illuminating  and  warming  rays  over  the  whole  of 
Germany,   overtowered   Berlin  and  Vienna  in  intellectual 


^be  iKIlcimar  Court  of  tbc  flDusea      273 

power,  and,  in  fact,  could  be  considered  the  real,  true  capital 
of  Germany. 

O  SBcimar,  bir  fid  cin  befonbcr  2og, 
SBSie  35et^lc^cm  in  ^snta,  ^lein  iinb  gro^.* 


Now  if  we  look  back  over  the  long  list  of  personalities  de- 
scribed, who  united  in  themselves  so  much  talent,  ambition, 
education,  character,  and  beauty,  and  if  we  remember  that 
they  frequently  received  valuable  additions  from  Jena, 
Erfurt,  Gotha,  and  the  country,  we  can  understand  how 
Goethe  could  with  happy  heart  exchange  the  great  im- 
perial city  for  the  little  rural  town,  the  "highly  favoured 
valleys"  of  the  Main  and  the  Rhine  for  the  iinfertile  hills 
of  Thuringia. 

"You  would  not  believe  how  many  good  fellows  and 
good  heads  there  are  gathered  here";  "in  such  a  small 
space,  just  as  in  one  family,  the  equal  is  nowhere  to  be  foimd," 
writes  Goethe  to  his  far-away  friends.  And  eleven  years 
later,  when  the  society  was  still  essentially  the  same, 
Schiller  wrote  in  the  same  vein :  "  All  are  people  such  as  one 
never  finds  together  in  one  place."  The  select  circle 
possessed  for  Goethe  two  other  special  advantages:  youth 
and  woman's  influence  were  its  prevalent  characteristics. 
Of  the  Duchess  Dowager,  the  real  patroness  of  the  Court  of 
the  Muses,  we  already  know  that  she  was  only  thirty-six 
years  of  age  ^2  when  Goethe  arrived  in  Weimar.  Karl 
August  and  his  wife  were  no  more  than  half  as  far  advanced 
in  years,  while  the  ages  of  the  others  ranged  between  these 
extremes,  with  the  exception  of  Wieland,  who  with  his 
forty-two  years  felt  like  a  grandfather  in  the  midst  of  the 
young  society. 

The  minds  of  these  youthful  people  had  not  yet  grown 
rigid  under  any  doctrine  or  habit.  They  readily  accepted 
the  new  trend  of  thought  and  feeling.  Whereas  in  the  great 
city   of   Frankfort    Goethe    saw  about  him   only  isolated 

*  On  thee,  O  Weimar,  fell  the  special  fate. 
Like  Bethlehem-Judah,  to  be  small  and  great. 


VOL.  I. — 18. 


2  74  Zbc  Xlfe  of  6oetbe 

disciples  of  his  ideas  and  admirers  of  his  poetry,  such  as  he 
wished,  in  little  Weimar  they  formed  a  dense  host,  a  wor- 
shipful congregation,  an  enthusiastic  party. 

Furthermore,  valuable  to  the  poet  as  were  the  men  who 
erred  and  strove  with  him  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilm,  it  was 
above  all  the  women  who  made  the  new  life  really  dear  to 
him.  At  all  times  in  his  Hfe  he  prized — at  first  instinct- 
ively, then  consciously — the  society  of  women  as  a  neces- 
sity of  life.  From  them  he  thought  he  received  the  most 
refined  inspirations  and  the  most  noble  purification.  It 
was  only  in  their  presence  that  the  best  sides  of  his  nature 
seemed  to  unfold  and  exert  a  beneficent  influence. 

Hence  one  can  estimate  what  a  significance  it  must  have 
had  for  him  to  find  in  Weimar  a  circle  of  highly  talented 
and  refined  women,  such  as  he  had  never  before  known. 
To  them  especially  are  we  indebted  that  his  tree  of  life  in 
the  growing  seriousness  of  years  and  business  did  not  run 
too  much  to  woody  fibre,  but  always  put  out  new  leaves 
and  new  blossoms. 


XX 

ARRIVAL   IN    WEIMAR 

Wieland  concerning  Goethe — Storm  and  Stress  at  the  ducal  Court — Cult 
of  nature — Gay,  unrestrained  life — Mutterings  of  scandalised 
feelings — Goethe  s  reasons  for  sharing  in  the  wild  life — His  influ- 
ence on  the  Duke — He  guides  from  pleasure  to  work — Klopstock's 
warning — Pure  motives  work  mischief — Calling  of  Herder — Min- 
isterial crisis — Fritsch  threatens  to  resign  if  Goethe  is  taken  into 
the  Privy  Council — Duchess  Dowager  brings  about  a  reconciliation 
— The  Duke's  confidence  in  Goethe — The  poet's  influence  in  office 
— The  benefit  to  him — His  Gartenhaus — His  new  love. 

"  ^^  INCE  this  morning  my  soul  has  been  as  full  of  Goethe 
^^  as  a  dewdrop  of  the  morning  sun,"  wrote  Wieland, 
^-^  one  of  the  greatest  men  at  the  Weimar  Court  of 
Genius,  three  days  after  Goethe's  arrival.  His  enthu- 
siasm rises  still  higher  when,  at  the  beginning  of  the  new 
year,  as  the  guest  of  Frau  von  Keller  and  her  handsome 
daughter  (his  "Psyche"),  he  has  occasion  to  spend  several 
days  with  the  Frankfort  visitor  in  the  undisturbed  solitude 
of  the  country-seat,  Stetten.  He  cannot  contain  himself 
for  joy  and  feels  that  he  must  announce  to  the  world  in 
dithyrambic  verse  the  wonderful  star  that  has  risen  in  the 
firmament  of  Weimar. 

W\t  cinent  frfimnrgcn  5lucicnpaar, 
3aubernben  ^lugcn  DoU.  ©ottcrblicfcn, 
©leic^  macf)tig  gu  totcn  imb  gu  entgficfcn, 
®o  trat  cr  iintcr  line,  ()crrlidi  iinb  ^e^r, 
@in  cd)tcr  ®ciftcrf5nic|,  balicr! 
Unb  niemanb  fragtc,  roer  ift  bciiii  bcr  ? 
2Sir  fiil)Iten'e  bcim  erftcn  W\d,  'e  innr  cr! 
275 


276  ^bc  %itc  of  (5oetbe 

SBir  fn{)(tcn'6  mit  alien  imfcrn  Stnnen, 
®nrc^  alle  iinfrc  51&ern  rinucn. 
@o  ^at  fic^  nie  in  ©ottce  ^^elt 
(gin  9J^en[c{)en|o[)n  un^  bargeftellt, 
®er  alle  ©i'lte  unb  alle  ©emalt 
®er  ^}J^en[c^l)eit  fo  in  fid)  nereinigt! 
@o  feineg  ®olb,  ganj  inncrcr  ©elialt, 
S5on  fremben  3d)lacfen  fo  gan^  gcreinigt! 
®er  unjerbrficft  Don  i[)rcr  ^a\t 
@o  mad)tig  alle  9htur  umfapt, 
©0  tief  in  jebeg  SKefen  fid)  grdbt, 
Unb  1)06:)  fo  innig  im  ©anjen  lebt! 

T'a^  la^  mir  einen  3aubrcr  fein! 

3Sic  rourbcn  mit  i[)m  bie  Jage  gu  ©tunbenl 

5)ie  iStitnben  luic  augcnblicfs  Derfd)tt)unben! 

Unb  roieber  5Iiigenblicfe  fo  reid)! 

5tn  inncrcm  9Berte  Xagcn  glcid)! 

SSag  mad)t  er  nid)t  an^  unfcrn  Seelcn  ? 

Sfficr  fc^meljt  raie  cr  bie  Suft  im  Sd^merg? 

2Bcr  fann  fo  licblid)  cingftcn  unb  qnalen  ? 

3n  fu^crn  Jrancn  3crfd)mcl3en  ha^  §crj  ? 

SKcr  auei  bcr  Seclen  inncrften  Jiefen 

Wit  fold)  ent^urfcnbcm  Ungcftfim 

©etril)le  eriDcrfcn,  bie  ol)nc  il)n 

Un^  felbft  Derborgen  im  '5)nufeln  f(^liefen  ? 

O  tt)eld)e  ®cfid)te,  uicld)e  Scenen 
§ic^  er  nor  unfcrn  ^lugcn  cntftebn  ? 
5Bir  aial)ntcn  nid)t  3u  bi^rni,  ju  fef)n, 
SKir  fal)n  !  5Scr  malt  mie  er?  So  fi^on, 
Unb  immer  obne  3n  iierfd)6nen ! 
©0  munbcrbarlid)  \va\)x,  fo  neu, 
Unb  beuuod)  3ug  nor  .-^ug  fo  tren? 
1)oc^  luie,  maei  fag'  id)  malen  ?    Gr  fd)afft, 
Wit  nuibrcr,  niad)tigcr  3d)opfcrv^fraft 
(£rfd)afft  cr  ilJ?cnfd)cu  ;  fie  atmcu,  fie  ftrebcn! 
3n  ilircn  inncrften  ^"safcrn  ift  ^cbcn! 
Unb  jcbe^  fo  gan^  (Se*  felbft,  fo  rein! 
^onntc  nie  ctiuog  anberei  fein! 


arrival  In  TKHclmar  277 

3[t  immcr  cc{)tcr  9J?cn)'d)  bcr  9lntitr, 
9?ic  .*pirniic[pcn[t,  nic  -Harifatiir, 
9iic  fQl)lc6  ©crippc  lion  8d)iilmora(, 
9iie  iibcrfpanntcs  3bcnl! 

^oif  cinmnl,  ^[t)d)c,  roie  flogen  bic  ©tunben 
1)urc^  mcinc^  Saubrerg  ^iinft  Dorbci! 
Unb  rocnn  mir  bad)tcn,  luir  biittcn'si  gcfunbcii, 
Unb  H)a^  er  fei,  nun  gnnj  cmpfunben, 
3Sic  roiirb'  cr  [o  fd)ncll  mis  mtcbcr  ncii ! 
(Snt[d)liipftc  plot^Iid)  bcm  fatten  "i&M 
Unb  fam  in  anbrcr  @c)ta(t  jnrficf. 
2icp  ncitc  ))\&^c  fid)  nn?  entfaltcn, 
Unb  jcbc  bcr  tanfcnbfad)cn  (sVftaltcn 
80  nngcjiuungen,  fo  nollio  fcin, 
S[J?an  mu^te  fie  fitr  bic  mal)rc  l)altcn  1 
9ial)m  unfre  ^crgcn  in  jcbcr  ein, 
@d)icn  immcr  nid)t3  baoon  ,yi  fc[)cn, 
Unb  rocnn  cr  immcr  gltinjcnb  nnb  gro^ 
9ting^  nmbcr  SSiirme  nnb  2id)t  crgop, 
<Biii  nnr  nm  fcinc  5lfd)e  jn  brcl)cn.* 

*  With  eyes  as  sable  as  the  night, 
Magical  eyes  full  of  flashes  divine, 
Of  power  destructive  as  well  as  benign, 
Majestic  he  moved,  and  to  all  did  seem 
In  the  realm  of  the  spirit  a  monarch  supreme. 
And  no  one  asked,  "  Pray,  who  may  it  be?" 
We  felt  at  a  single  glance,  it  was  he. 
With  all  our  senses  we  felt  it  course 
Through  all  our  veins  with  mighty  force. 
In  all  God's  world  we  never  yet 
A  single  son  of  man  have  met. 
Who  every  virtue  so  combined 
With  every  power  of  human  soul, 
Such  gold,  of  every  dross  refined, 
So  pure  and  inwardly  so  whole; 
Who,  by  her  vastness  unoppressed, 
All  nature  folds  so  close  to  his  breast; 
In  every  being  can  delve  so  deep. 
And  in  such  touch  with  all  life  keep. 

Magician  would  I  have  him  styled! 

How  days  became  hours  when  he  was  nigh, 

And  hours  like  minutes  went  flitting  by! 


2  78  ZTbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

Thus  wrote  Wieland,  whose  enthusiasm  found  the 
deepest  and  most  beautiful  words  ever  uttered  of  Goethe 
as  a  poet.      Chamberlain    von    Kalb    wrote    to    Goethe's 

And  moments,  how  with  rapture  prolonged! 
Like  days  with  rich  recollections  thronged. 
How  quick  our  response  to  his  magic  art! 
Who  mingles  joy  as  he  with  fears? 
Can  grief  and  pain  so  lovely  impart? 
Dissolve  the  soul  in  sweeter  tears? 
Who  down  in  our  bosom's  deepest  core 
With  such  impatient  delight 
Emotions  arouse,  which,  without  his  light. 
Would  sleep  in  the  dark  for  evermore? 

What  scenes  and  oh,  what  visions  bright 

He  conjured  up  before  us  there! 

'T  was  not  we  seemed  to  see  and  hear ; 

We  saw.     Who  paints  as  he?  so  fair. 

Yet  ne'er  a  beautifying  light; 

So  wonderfully  real,  so  new, 

Yet  line  for  line  so  wholly  true? 

Say  I,  he  paints?     With  power  great, 

Divine,  he  doth  his  men  create 

In  truest  sense;    they  breathe,  they  strive, 

Are  in  their  inmost  fibre  alive. 

Each  is  so  sole  an  entity. 

And  nothing  else  could  ever  be; 

Is  ever  nature's  very  child; 

No  burlesque,  no  chimera  wild, 

No  stupid  creature  didactical, 

No  vain  ideal  impractical. 

Again,  O  Psyche,  how  the  hours  flew. 
When  guided  by  my  magician's  wand! 
And  when  at  length  we  fancied  we  knew 
His  powers  all,  and  had  felt  them,  too. 
How  changed  he  was  in  a  turn  of  the  handl 
Escaped  a  moment  our  sated  eyes. 
Returned  again  with  new  surprise. 
New  charms  he  would  to  us  unfold. 
Yet  of  his  forms  so  manifold, 
So  natural,  so  all  his  own. 
We  could  but  each  the  true  one  hold. 
In  each  of  them  our  hearts  he  won; 
He  nought  of  this  seemed  to  discern; 
E'en  though  he  ever,  brilliant  and  great, 
True  warmth  and  light  did  radiate. 
He  did  but  round  his  axis  turn. 


arrival  in  IXIlcimar  279 

parents:  "  Fancy  him  as  the  most  trusted  friend  of  our  dear 
Duke,  who  without  him  cannot  Hve  a  single  day,  and  loved, 
yea,  idolised  by  all  good  fellows  .  .  .  and  your  fancy 
picture  will  still  be  far  from  complete."  "Far  from  com- 
plete," for  the  good  fellows  were  joined  by  the  good  Misels, 
as  the  ladies  were  called  in  the  Storm-and-Stress  jargon 
of  Weimar.  Their  enthusiasm  for  the  handsome  son  of  the 
Main,  who  arrived  in  the  interesting  Werther  costume,  was 
not  so  demonstrative,  but  it  was  fully  as  deep  and  more 
lasting.  In  the  farce,  Rino,  which  Frau  von  Stein  com- 
posed at  the  time,  they  all  swarm  about  him  with  languid, 
loving  looks,  and  each  is  happy  to  be  able  to  show  a  few 
letters  from  him.  "  I  am  not  in  the  least  surprised  that 
Goethe  has  become  such  a  universal  favourite,"  replied 
Zimmermann  to  a  letter  from  Frau  von  Stein. 

The  more  the  hearts  of  Weimar  society  inclined  to  him 
the  easier  it  became  for  him  to  influence  them,  and  the 
Ducal  Court  was  soon  imbued  with  Storm  and  Stress. 
"Nature,"  ''liberty,"  "fraternity"  became  here  the  watch- 
words, as  they  had  been  before  in  the  Strasburg  student 
circle, — but  in  a  changed  sense.  In  art  Goethe  had  almost 
overcome  naturalism,  but  in  life  had  taken  up  with  it  more 
passionately  than  ever.  More  and  more  he  felt  himself  to  be 
a  part  of  nature ;  hence  he  f oimd  ever-increasing  happiness 
in  living  in  communion  with  nature.  After  he  had  slept 
in  his  Gartenhaus  for  the  first  time  he  called  himself  "  Erd- 
kulin,"  *  after  a  character  in  a  fairy  tale.  He  spoke  of  his 
"earthy  smell"  and  "earthy  feeling,"  he  felt  at  home  in 

*  I.  e.,  Erdkuhlein.  Formerly,  before  the  fairy  tale  was  re-discovered, 
the  word  was  spelled  "Erdtulin,"  which  was  an  etymological  enigma. 
Goethe  probably  read  the  tale  in  an  old  Alsatian  version;  hence  the 
form,  "Erdkulin."  The  Erdkuhlein,  nourished  only  by  Mother  Earth, 
lives  all  alone  in  a  tiny  little  house,  and  refreshes  the  good  people  who 
come  thither.     Goethe  afterward  wrote  of  his  Gartenhaus: 

Allen,  die  daselbst  verkehrt, 
Ward  ein  guter  Mut  bescheert. 

[All  who  paid  a  visit  here 

Felt  their  souls  refreshed  with  cheer.] 


28o  Zbc  Xife  of  (3oetbe 

gulches,  caves,  and  forests.  From  the  embrace  of  nattire 
he  fancied  that  he  derived  new  strength.  In  nature  there 
were  revealed  to  him  the  secret  wonders  of  his  own  heart 
as  well  as  those  of  nature  herself.  With  this  cult  of  nature 
he  saturated  his  whole  environment  in  Weimar.  "  Drink  in 
the  earth-sap,  drink  in  life,"  was  Karl  August's  advice  in  a 
poetic  epistle  to  Frau  von  Stein.  "  Nowhere  do  I  feel  well 
until,  staff  in  hand,  I  live  and  reign  beneath  my  trees  and 
inhale  the  infinite  earth-spirit,"  wrote  Wieland,  who  had 
never  before  dreamed  of  an  earth-spirit.  "The  governor 
of  Erfurt  spent  a  few  days  with  us  and  did  not  depart 
without  an  'earthy  smell,'"  writes  Goethe,  delighted,  to 
Baron  von  Fritsch  (August,  1776).  Schiller,  who  loved 
best  to  dwell  in  the  realm  of  thought,  was  quite  vexed,  on 
his  first  visit  in  Weimar,  over  "the  attachment  to  nature, 
carried  to  the  point  of  affectation." 

A  result  of  living  close  to  nature  was  complete  abandon, 
a  desire  to  round  out  their  lives  in  unrestrained  freedom. 
The  younger  the  Weimar  society,  and  the  greater  its  power 
and  resources,  the  wilder  and  more  extravagant  this  free 
reign  of  the  individuality  necessarily  became.  Karl  August 
especially  thirsted  for  such  a  life.  His  vigorous  tempera- 
ment had  heretofore,  as  it  were,  been  confined  in  a  strait- 
jacket.  Governors  and  privy  councillors  had  laboured  with 
him  day  after  day,  and  shut  him  off  from  life,  as  if  by  a 
barricade.  He  had  legally  and  actually  been  under  tutelage. 
At  the  moment  when  he  reached  his  majority  he  had  become 
a  reigning  prince  and  a  husband,  and,  instead  of  gaining  his 
liberty,  seemed  to  be  weighed  down  by  heavier  and  tighter 
chains.  His  whole  being  revolted,  and,  even  if  Goethe  had 
not  come,  he  would  have  used  his  princely  sovereignty  to 
satisfy  his  repressed  longing  for  the  free  enjoyment  of  life. 
Contact  with  Goethe's  fiery  spirit  only  hastened  his  natural 
development. 

Life  began  to  be  gay,  excited,  unrestrained.  Drinking 
bouts,  cards  and  dice,  balls  in  palaces  and  in  village  inns, 
stag  chases,  mountain  hunts,  sleighing  and  skating,  mas- 
querades, picnics,  theatres,  and  love-making  furnished  the 


arrival  In  IKIlclmar  281 

desired  excitement.  Besides,  there  were  many  extra 
pleasures,  and  one  may  well  believe  that  Goethe  and  the 
Diike  occasionally  stood  in  the  market-place  and  vied  with 
each  other  in  cracking  the  whip,  or  that  they  disturbed  the 
night's  rest  of  a  young  married  couple,  or  had  the  door 
to  Fraulein  von  Gochhausen's  room  secretly  walled  up,  and 
the  like.  Karl  August  doubtless  not  infrequently  went  far- 
ther, and  became  rough  and  childish,  as  may  every  day  be 
observed  in  the  student  life  of  normally  sensible  and  well- 
bred  people.  If  Karl  August  and  Goethe  had  led  such  a 
wild  life  as  Korps-Studenten  nobody  would  have  said  a  word 
about  it.  As  it  was,  it  might  have  been  excusable  in  Goethe ; 
he  was  a  sort  of  Storm-and-Stress  fellow  and  as  yet  not  in- 
vested with  any  office;  but  Karl  August  was  a  prince,  a 
sovereign,  and  a  married  man.  Hence  his  life  must  have 
caused  many  a  scandalised  shake  of  the  head  among  the 
citizens  and  officials  of  Weimar,  who  were  not  attuned  to 
Storm-and-Stress  pitch.  Einsiedel,  in  one  of  the  satires 
which  were  read  in  the  "  Weltgeisterei,"  "  Karl  August's 
more  intimate  circle,  takes  off  the  chorus  of  grumblers  with 
excellent  humour: 

9htn  benf  man  fii^  'en  ^urftcnfo^n, 
S)er  fo  Dergipt  ©ebiirt  iinb  J[)ron 
Unb  lebt  mit  foId)cn  locfcrn  ©cfdlcn, 
®te  bem  lieben  ®ott  bie  3cit  abprdlcn; 
®ic  tun,  alg  mdr'n  [ic  [cinceglcidicn, 
S^m  nid)t  einmal  ben  gud)ei'd)inan',  ftreidien, 
5)ie  bee  S^rubere  JRcfpeft  fo  gan?  nerfcnncn, 
Tout  court  t^n  ,,5Brnbcrber5  "  tun  ncnncn, 
©laub'n,  e^  rooline  '^a  !i)1?cnirf)cniicr[tanb, 
SBo  man  all  etiquette  nerbannt, 
(Spred)'n  immer  aug  nollcm  $erj, 
S^reib'n  mit  ber  bnl'gcn  5taatefnnft  Sc^erj 
(2inb  o[)ne  ^^^lan  unb  '*^oIitif, 
55er^un5'n  unfcr  beftce  ^JJici[terftucf.* 

*  Just  fancy,  pray,  a  prince's  son 
Who  so  forgets  his  birth  and  throne 
And  lives  with  a  degenerate  mob, 
Who  God  of  every  minute  rob; 


282  Zhc  %itc  of  (Boetbe 

Goethe  had  his  share  in  the  pranks;  yet  he  secretly 
approved  of  many  of  the  objections  to  them,  and  it  is  cer- 
tain that  he  took  only  a  half-hearted  part  in  many  of  the 
disorderly  amusements.  He  was  obliged  to  join  in  them 
for  two  reasons.  A  young  man  does  not  impress  a  vigorous 
young  generation  by  mere  intellectual  superiority:  least 
of  all  a  burgher  young  nobleman  or  princes.  He  must 
also  show  that  he  is  their  physical  peer  in  endurance  and 
agility.  If  Goethe  demonstrated  to  the  young  Prince  of 
Weimar  that  he  could  hold  his  own  in  drinking  as  well  as 
any  German  nobleman ;  that  in  riding  he  found  no  ditch  too 
broad,  no  hedge  too  high,  no  rocky  bridle-path  too  hard,  no 
way  too  long ;  that  he  was  a  good  hunter,  a  skilful  dancer 
and  skater ;  that  he  understood  every  sport ;  that  he  could 
spend  a  whole  winter  night  in  drinking  and  dancing,  and 
then  before  break  of  day  start  on  a  hunt,  then  and  then 
only  could  he  be  sure  that  the  Prince  and  his  cavaliers 
would  have  full  respect  for  him.  This  respect  was  very 
important  in  his  opinion,  not  for  the  sake  of  his  own  person, 
but  for  the  high  ideals  which  he  pursued  with  the  Duke. 
The  other  controlling  motive  was  his  desire  to  be  every- 
where present,  that  he  might  at  all  times  be  able  to  check 
the  imtamed  youth  and  prevent  his  exuberant  powers  from 
going  to  excesses  that  might  lead  to  his  own  and  the  cotm- 
try's  ruin. 

It  is  not  a  question  of  whether  or  not  Goethe  in  his 
bearing  was  always  conscious  of  these  ruling  motives. 
That  they  were  often  the  secret  of  his  actions  cannot  be 
doubted,  any  more  than  that  he,  from  the  very  first,  sought 

They  flatter  him  no  more — the  sequel 
Of  their  demeanour  as  his  equal — 
And  now  no  more  their  prince  revere; 
Tout  court  they  call  him  "brother  dear"  ; 
Think  that  human  wisdom  is  found, 
Where  all  etiquette  falls  to  the  ground ; 
Always  speak  what  is  in  their  heart, 
Making  a  joke  of  the  statesman's  art ; 
No  plan  or  policy  employ; 
Our  greatest  masterpiece  destroy. 


Brrival  In  IKIlcimar  283 

to  gain  a  dominant  influence  over  the  young  Prince.  Goethe 
was  always  an  active  nature  and  needed  to  be  exerting  his 
powers  and  influence.*  To  devote  exclusively  to  pleasure 
and  amusements  a  visit  that  lasted  for  weeks  would  have 
been  to  him  the  most  distasteful  thing  in  the  world.  For 
this  reason  he  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  and  the 
Prince's  love  for  him  to  exert  a  beneficent  influence  upon 
the  sovereign,  without  a  thought  of  whether  or  not  he 
himself  should  remain  there,  or  perhaps  with  the  very 
thought  that  in  a  few  weeks  or  months  he  should  depart 
from  the  principality.  The  educational  influence  which  he 
exerted  over  Karl  August  is  not  very  noticeable  in  the 
earlier  stages,  but  when  we  gain  an  insight  into  it  we  find 
it  as  interesting  as  it  is  instructive.  We  observe  how 
cleverly  the  poet  chooses  the  most  varied  ways  and  means 
to  preach  serious  truths  to  the  Duke  without  any  school- 
masterly obtrusiveness ;  as,  on  a  visit  in  Kochberg,  hardly 
a  month  after  his  arrival,  when  he  approaches  the  Duke  as  a 
humble  peasant,  pays  his  homage  to  him  in  doggerel,  and 
then  continues : 

®th'  (Suc^  @ott  adcn  gutcn  Scgcn, 
9liir  lopt  Gild)  fcin  m\^  angelcgcn, 
®enn  mir  baiirifc^  trciics  S3hit 
@inb  boc^  imtncr  giier  bcftcg  ®ut, 
llnb  fonnt  6iic^  mc^r  an  im^  crfrcim, 
5llg  an  ^ferben  unb  Stutercin.t 

Or  in  a  letter  from  Waldeck  (Christmas,  1775),  in  which 
he  inserts  in  the  midst  of  all  sorts  of  drollery  the  following 
verses  from  Isaiah,  which  he  says  he  has  just  been  reading: 
"  Behold,  the  Lord  maketh  the  earth  empty ;   and  maketh 

*  "There  is  nothing  more  wretched  than  a  man,  in  comfortable  cir- 
cumstances, without  work,"  wrote  Goethe  in  his  diary,  in  January,  1779. 

t  God  grant  thee  all  his  blessings  rare. 
Pray  of  our  weal  have  thou  a  care ; 
The  faithful  peasants  of  thy  nation 
Are  in  the  end  thy  best  possession ; 
We  more  can  please  than  princely  stud, 
Or  steed  of  most  illustrious  blood. 


284  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbc 

it  waste,  and  tumeth  it  upside  down,  and  scattereth  abroad 
the  inhabitants  thereof.  .  .  .  The  new  wine  moumeth, 
the  vine  languisheth,  all  the  merry-hearted  do  sigh.  The 
mirth  of  tabrets  ceaseth,  the  noise  of  them  that  rejoice 
endeth,  the  joy  of  the  harp  ceaseth.  They  shall  not  drink 
wine  with  a  song ;  strong  drink  shall  be  bitter  to  them  that 
drink  it.  The  city  of  confusion  is  broken  down:  every 
house  is  shut  up,  that  no  man  may  come  in.  .  .  .  In 
the  city  is  left  desolation,  and  the  gate  is  smitten  with 
destruction."  He  adds  no  word  of  explanation,  but  we 
feel  between  the  lines  that  it  is  not  the  poetic  beauty  which 
bids  him  copy  the  passage  for  the  Duke,  but  the  desire,  by 
means  of  the  picture  of  the  exhausted  country,  to  admonish 
the  Duke  to  spare  his  own  land  and  people. 

Apart  from  these  half -masked  bits  of  advice  there  are 
not  a  few  direct  ones.  When  he  was  alone  with  the  Duke, 
especially  in  the  quiet  of  the  room,  and  the  conversation 
touched  upon  the  duties  of  the  Duke  as  sovereign  and 
husband,  then  Goethe,  as  we  can  see  from  certain  letters 
and  passages  in  his  diary,  laid  down  the  law  to  him  very 
energetically,  albeit  with  the  cleverness  of  genius  and  the 
warmth  of  love.  He  often  talked  with  the  Duke  on  such 
subjects  till  after  midnight,  and  if,  instead  of  going  home, 
he  spent  the  night  with  his  "dear  lord,"  the  respectable 
officials  and  citizens  may  well  have  thought  the  two  were 
revelling  in  champagne,  or  holding  God  only  knows  what 
other  orgies.  That,  too,  Goethe  was  obliged  to  suffer  in 
silence. 

.     .     .     ?d)  bin  nid)t  bcrcit, 

"Deg  grcmbcn  9?ciu^icr  Icid)t  ^,ii  [tillcn; 

Socjar  tierbitt'  id)  bcincn  c^iitcn  SSsiUcn; 

.§icr  ift  gii  |d}it)ciflcn  iinb  ju  Icibcn  3cit.* 

We  see  further  how  Goethe,  far  from  losing  sight  of  the 
serious  duties  of  government,  even  on  the  merry  hunts, 

*  ...      I  do  not  care 

The  stranger's  curiosity  to  still; 
I  even  must  forbid  thine  own  good  will; 
A  time  is  this  to  suffer  and  forbear. 


arrival  In  Mclmar  285 

drives,  and  rides  in  the  country,  makes  them  the  means  of 
leading  the  Duke  from  pleasure  to  work.  With  his  peculiar 
versatility  and  his  rare  talent  for  presenting  the  useful  in 
the  garb  of  the  beautiful  he  may  on  such  occasions  have 
inspired  the  Duke  with  an  interest  in  the  improvement  of 
the  roads,  the  care  of  fields  and  forests,  and  the  promotion 
of  trade  and  industry.  In  this  way  we  can  understand  his 
writing  to  Johanna  Fahlmer,  in  February,  1776:  "I  am 
just  beginning  to  get  acquainted  with  the  country,  and  this 
of  itself  affords  me  great  pleasure.  It  is  also  giving  the 
Duke  a  love  of  work." 

Who  saw  this  beneficent  labour  of  Goethe's?  The  scat- 
tered seed  was  only  germinating;  it  needed  time  to  grow 
and  become  visible.  Meanwhile  the  world  saw  nothing 
but  all  the  mischief  which  Goethe  had  apparently  wrought. 
It  saw  how  the  Duke  was  undermining  his  health  by 
his  irregular  life  and,  as  was  also  whispered  about,  by 
his  immoderate  drinking ;  it  saw  how  he  risked  life  and  limb 
for  no  other  reason  than  to  spend  his  rage  on  horseback; 
how  the  business  of  state  was  at  a  standstill;  how  old 
and  meritorious  officials  were  set  aside;  how  the  income  of 
the  Duke,  instead  of  being  employed  in  dignified  Court 
representation,  was  squandered  in  drinking  and  gaming; 
and  how  the  young  Duchess  was  mourning  in  solitude  over 
her  unhappy  marriage.  All  this  with  sensational  additions 
was  borne  from  mouth  to  mouth  and  told  abroad,  and  the 
blame  for  it  all  was  thrown  on  Goethe.  For  he  was  the 
older  and  more  sensible,  and  a  bosom  friend,  and  only  af- 
ter his  arrival  had  the  crazy  doings  begun.  Openly  and 
secretly,  from  Weimar  and  from  abroad,  came  warnings, 
admonitions,  pleadings.  Finally  even  the  singer  of  the 
Messias  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  to  write  a  "friendly 
letter"  to  Goethe,  in  which  he  said:  "  Let  me  not  begin  by 
saying  that  I  know  it  on  good  authority ;  for  without  good 
authority  I  should  certainly  remain  silent.  Do  not  think, 
either,  that  I  intend  to  preach  to  you  with  regard  to  your 
conduct;  nor  that  I  judge  you  harshly,  because  you  per- 
chance have  other  views  than  mine  on  certain  subjects. 


286  ^bc  Xlfe  of  Goetbe 

Your  principles  and  mine  aside,  what  will  be  the  result, 
pray,  if  this  continues?  If  the  Duke  continues  his  over- 
indulgence in  drink  till  it  makes  him  ill,  instead  of,  as  he 
says,  making  him  physically  stronger,  it  will  ruin  his  con- 
stitution and  bring  him  to  an  early  grave.  Doubtless 
yoimg  men  with  inherited  strong  constitutions — and  such 
the  Duke  certainly  is  not — have  in  this  way  materially 
shortened  their  lives.  The  Germans  have  hitherto  had 
reason  to  complain  that  their  princes  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  their  scholars.  They  now  gladly  make  an  ex- 
ception of  the  Duke  of  Weimar.  But  what  will  not  other 
princes  have  to  say  in  justification  of  themselves,  if  you 
continue  your  present  conduct?  If  only  that  should 
happen,  which  I  feel  will  happen!  As  yet  the  Duchess 
would  perhaps  be  able  to  subdue  her  sorrow,  for  she  has  a 
masculine  mind.  But  this  sorrow  will  become  grief,  and 
peradventure  you  think  that  that  too  can  be  suppressed? 
Luise's  grief,  Goethe!  Nay,  do  not  boast  that  you  love  her 
as  I  do !  .  .  .  It  is  for  you  to  decide  whether  or  not  you 
will  show  this  letter  to  the  Duke.  For  my  part  I  have  no 
objections ;  quite  the  contrary,  for  he  certainly  has  not  yet 
come  to  the  point  when  he  will  not  listen  to  the  truth 
spoken  by  a  true  friend." 

Goethe  had  passed  by  all  other  epistles  with  a  laugh  or  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders.  Klopstock's  offended  him,  and  he 
felt  it  necessary  to  silence  the  true  friend  with  a  curt, 
decisive  answer:  "Spare  us  such  letters  in  the  futiu*e,  dear 
Klopstock!  They  do  us  no  good  and  always  make  us 
angry  for  a  few  hoiu^s.  You  feel  yourself  that  I  have  no 
answer  to  make.  Either  I  would  have  to  intone  a  Pater, 
peccavi,  like  a  school-boy,  or  offer  a  sophistical  excuse,  or 
defend  myself  as  a  man  of  honour,  and,  in  truth,  perhaps  a 
mingling  of  all  three  would  be  the  result ;  but  to  what  pur- 
pose? Therefore  no  further  words  between  us  on  this 
subject.  Believe  me  that  I  should  not  have  a  moment's 
rest  if  I  answered  all  such  admonitions.  For  a  moment  it 
pained  the  Duke  that  it  was  a  Klopstock.  He  loves  and 
honours  you;  you  know  and  feel  the  same  is  true  of  me 


arrival  In  IKHclmar  287 

.     .     . "      Klopstock  wrote  an  uncivil  answer  which  for- 
ever ended  friendly  relations  between  the  two  men. 

It  is  characteristic  that  Goethe  in  his  letter  did  not 
flatly  deny  that  there  were  grounds  for  the  complaint 
against  him,  but  half  admitted  that  there  were  such  when 
he  hinted  that  his  answer  would  be  a  mingling  of  confession, 
excuse,  and  defence.  He  did  the  same  thing  at  other  times 
with  a  more  punctilious  sense  of  honour  than  the  occasion 
demanded.  The  most  magnificent  example  is  in  the  poem 
Ilmenau: 

Sd^  brnd^te  reineg  gcucr  nom  5lltar, 
S®Qg  id)  cntjiinbct,  ift  nid)t  rcinc  g-(animc, 
®cr  (Sturm  Dermcl)rt  bic  ©lut  imb  bic  C^cfa^r, 
3(^  [d)iuaufc  nirf)t,  inbcm  id)  mid)  ucrbammc. 

9lun  fi^  id)  ^ier  guglcid)  crl)obcn  iinb  gcbrurft, 
Unfd^ulbig  unb  geftrnft  iinb  fc^ulbig  *  iinb  bcglitcft.f 

As  a  result  of  this  unintentional  guilt  [unschuldige 
Schuld],  for  which  he  so  often  in  his  life  had  to  suffer,  and  as 
a  result  of  the  complaints  heard  against  him  on  all  sides, 
and  the  unhappiness  of  the  Duchess,  whom  he  so  highly 
respected,  he  had  many  a  trying  hour  in  the  midst  of  the 
whirl  of  distractions.  At  such  times  he  would  step  aside 
and  commune  with  the  Creator  in  his  own  way. 

®cr  bii  Don  bem  .f>immcl  bift, 
§lllc  greiib'  unb  Scbmcrjcn  ftiUeft, 
®en,  ber  boppelt  cicnb  ift, 
©oppcit  mit  Grquicfung  ffiUeft, 

*  The  genuine  reading  is  here  given,   instead  of  the  common  one: 
Unschuldig  tind  begliickt. 

t  Pure  fire  I  from  the  sacred  altar  brought, 
What  I  enkindled  is  unholy  flame, 
Whose  storm-fanned  fury  is  with  danger  fraught; 
I  waver  not  in  that  myself  I  blame. 

Now  sit  I  here,  at  once  exultant  and  oppressed; 
Am  innocent  and  punished ;   guilty,  yet  am  blessed. 


288  iTbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

3lc^,  ic^  bin  bc§  Srcibcn^  miibe ! 
SKag  I'oU  qU  bie  dual  unb  Sitft? 
©it^cr  gricbe, 
^omm,  ad^  fomm  in  mcine  S3ru[t.* 

In  spite  of  the  hostilities  and  the  disagreements  with 
which  he  was  harassed  soon  after  his  arrival,  Goethe  could 
not  think  of  leaving  Weimar  very  soon,  even  if  the  Duke 
should  not  wish  to  retain  him  permanently.  His  con- 
scientiousness, bravery,  and  faithful  friendship  compelled 
him  at  least  to  await  the  issue  of  two  important  matters 
which  had  been  taken  up  a  few  weeks  after  his  coming. 

The  first  was  the  calling  of  Herder  to  the  office  of 
Superintendent  General  of  matters  ecclesiastical  in  Weimar. 
"I  must  have  this  arranged  before  I  leave,"  he  wrote  to 
Herder  on  the  2nd  of  January.  But  the  project  had 
scarcely  been  whispered  around  when  there  developed  a 
bitter  opposition  to  it.  The  opposition  originated  with  the 
Supreme  Consistory,  whose  members  were  united  against 
Herder  from  a  strange  combination  of  worldly  and  re- 
ligious motives.  They  were  especially  fearful  with  regard 
to  Herder's  supposed  latitudinarianism.  The  most  absurd 
and  insipid  things  were  circulated  about  him,  and,  as  a 
result,  a  large  part  of  the  congregation  were  horrified  at  the 
thought  of  the  new  Superintendent  General.  The  opposi- 
tion was  so  violent  that  Goethe  did  not  even  consider  the 
privacy  of  letters  secure,  and  begged  his  friend  to  name 
some  orthodox  theologian  who  would  vouch  for  him.  But 
even  when,  at  the  end  of  January,  the  matter  was  settled  in 
favor  of  Herder  by  the  firm  intervention  of  the  Duke,  the 
opposition  was  able  to  put  a  thousand  things  in  the  way  of 

*  Thou  who  Heaven's  appointed  art, 
Every  joy  and  sorrow  stillest, 
And  the  doubly  aching  heart 
Doubly  with  refreshment  fiUest, 
Oh,  that  my  unrest  might  cease! 
Wherefore  all  this  joy  and  pain? 
Come,  sweet  peace. 
Come,  and  in  my  bosom  reign. 


arrival  in  HCleimar  289 

the  final  call  and  installation.  These  petty  bickerings  were 
successfully  settled  by  Goethe,  but  it  was  no  pleasant  task. 
Yet  what  would  he  not  have  done  to  bring  to  his  side  his 
great  guide  and  his  dear  Darmstadt  "saint"? 

His  further  stay  in  Weimar  had  meanwhile  been  de- 
termined upon  in  connection  with  the  second  and  more 
important  affair.  A  severe  ministerial  crisis  had  been 
hovering  over  Weimar  since  December.  The  duchy  was  in 
danger  of  losing  its  excellent  prime  minister.  Even  before 
the  accession  of  Karl  August,  von  Fritsch,  fearing  he  did 
not  possess  the  confidence  of  the  Duke,  had  been  con- 
templating retirement  from  his  political  position  as  presi- 
dent of  the  Pri\^  Coimcil  (Ministry)  to  the  neutral  one  of 
president  of  the  judiciary.  His  father  had  persuaded  him 
not  to  take  this  step.  And  then  Karl  August,  returning 
from  his  wedding  journey,  made  him  the  astonishing  pro- 
posal that  he  assume  the  presidency  of  the  judiciary  in 
addition  to  his  position  as  minister.  As  the  ministerial 
duties  of  themselves  required  all  the  strength  which  the 
diligent  man  could  muster,  he  could  hardly  consider  the 
proposal  anything  other  than  an  attempt  to  crowd  him  out 
of  the  Council.  He  immediately  saw  the  logical  conse- 
quences, and,  on  the  9th  of  December,  begged  to  be  re- 
lieved of  his  ministerial  position  and  intrusted  only  with 
the  presidency  of  the  judiciar^\ 

We  may  assume  that  Karl  August  was  inclined  to  grant 
the  request.  Ever  since  the  days  of  his  minority  he  had 
cherished  a  grievance  against  Fritsch,  and  probably  had, 
besides,  the  desire  common  among  new  sovereigns  to  sur- 
round himself  with  new  serv^ants.  We  may  also  assume, 
however,  that  Goethe  quickly  recognised  the  great  worth  of 
Fritsch  and  the  far-reaching  consequences  which  would 
attend  his  retirement,  and  that  he  laboured  with  Karl  August 
for  weeks  to  restrain  him  from  an  overhasty  step.  In  the 
course  of  these  interviews  Karl  August  probably  secured 
Goethe's  promise  to  remain  with  him  permanently  and 
enter  the  Pri\'y  Council.  This  is  the  only  explanation  of  the 
fact  that  the  Duke  did  not  return  to  Fritsch 's  petition  till 

VOL.  I. 19. 


2  90  Zbc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

the  middle  of  February,  when  he  invited  him  to  an  audience, 
in  which  he  in  an  "exceedingly  gracious  manner"  begged 
him  to  retain  his  old  position  as  heretofore,  but  at  the  same 
time  disclosed  to  him  his  plan  of  making  various  changes  in 
the  personnel :  he  intended  to  transfer  to  Chamberiain  von 
Kalb  the  presidency  of  the  Chamber,  i.  e.,  the  portfolio 
of  finance,  and  to  appoint  Doctor  Goethe  a  member  of  the 
Council.  Against  both  these  steps  Fritsch  immediately 
entered  a  very  frank  and  very  determined  protest,  espe- 
cially against  the  appointment  of  Goethe,  as  he  considered 
the  frivolous  young  belletristic  advocate  from  Frankfort 
wholly  incapable  of  administering  such  a  high  and  respon- 
sible office  in  a  state  with  which  he  was  unfamiliar.  He 
begged  the  Duke  in  any  case  to  consider  his  plans  maturely. 
Again  the  Duke  allowed  more  than  two  months  to  pass 
before  he  announced  his  decision  to  the  minister.  This 
second  long  hesitation  was  so  imnatural  in  the  hot-headed, 
stubborn  Prince,  especially  when,  as  in  this  case,  it  was  a 
question  of  the  fulfilment  of  his  heart's  desires,  that  we 
must  ascribe  it  also  to  Goethe's  intervention.  Goethe  may 
have  hoped  that  in  time  the  differences  would  adjust 
themselves,  Fritsch  become  better  acquainted  with  him, 
and  the  Duke  gain  more  repose.  How  great  a  part  Goethe 
had  in  the  Duke's  every  act  in  the  case  we  may  best  see 
from  the  fact  that  he  looked  over  the  first  draught  of  the 
decision  which  was  finally  communicated  on  the  21st  of 
April,  and  softened  down  some  of  its  harsh  features.  In 
it  the  Duke  again  begged  Fritsch  to  retain  his  position 
in  the  Council,  affirming,  however,  that  he  must  insist  on  his 
former  plans,  including  the  changes  in  the  personnel  of  the 
Council. 

Fritsch  was  ruffled  in  the  highest  degree  by  the  decision. 
From  the  long  delay  he  may  have  expected  that  the  Duke 
had  approved  his  objections,  but  now  it  was  out  of  the 
question;  and  if  the  Duke  would  not  listen  to  him  in  such 
important  questions  of  personnel  and  organisation,  how 
could  he  hope  for  any  further  success  in  his  official  activities  ? 
Besides,  there  was  some  justification  for  his  fears  that  the 


Hrrlval  In  Xiilllelmar  291 

appointment  of  Goethe  and  von  Kalb  to  the  governmental 
service  would  not  be  the  end,  but  that  they  would  be  fol- 
lowed by  more  such  eccentric  and  wild  youths.  Herder, 
who  belonged  to  this  class,  had  already  received  the  highest 
office  in  the  church.  Lenz,  who  entertained  extravagant 
notions  on  military  policy,^*  and  whose  career  of  folly  in 
Weimar  dated  from  the  ist  of  April,  had  perhaps  been 
fixed  upon  for  the  directorship  of  the  war  department; 
Fritz  Stolberg,  who,  back  in  November,  had  given  a  striking 
performance  as  a  Storm-and-Stress  character,  Wagner,  and 
Klinger  were,  or  seemed  to  be,  coming  into  favour — what 
should  he,  the  serious  official,  do  by  the  side  of  such  fellows? 
His  mind  was  accordingly  soon  made  up.  On  the  following 
day  he  handed  in  his  resignation  from  the  governmental 
service  of  Weimar.  He  considered  it  his  duty,  however, 
as  a  faithful  servant  of  the  state  and  the  ducal  house, 
before  taking  his  departure  to  raise  his  voice  in  all  frankness 
and  with  all  possible  emphasis  against  the  plans  of  the  Duke. 
We  are  interested  here  only  in  what  was  said  about  the 
purpose  of  calling  Goethe  into  the  Coimcil.  He  says  he 
has  been  pained  to  hear  that  the  Duke  persists  in  a  deter- 
mination which  may  bring  upon  him  the  criticism  of  all  the 
world,  and  which  Goethe,  if  he  has  any  real  attachment 
and  love  for  the  Duke,  must  himself  disapprove.  He  is  so 
thoroughly  convinced  of  the  mistake  of  the  step,  that  he 
can  no  longer  sit  in  a  collegium,  of  which  the  aforesaid  Doctor 
Goethe  is  to  be  a  member.  Furthermore  he  will  not  conceal 
from  the  Duke  the  fact  that  the  public  is  quite  generally 
dissatisfied  with  the  hitherto  dilatory  administration  of 
government  affairs. 

On  receipt  of  this  letter  the  Duke's  anger  doubtless 
burst  into  flames.  Especially  the  sentence  about  Goethe, 
the  divine  friend  of  his  heart,  by  whose  side  Fritsch  would 
not  sit,  must  have  thoroughly  aroused  his  passion.  Never- 
theless sixteen  days  pass  before  he  answers  the  minister. 
The  answer  is  dated  the  loth  of  May.  On  this  day  Goethe 
returned  from  a  little  tour  in  the  country,  having  had 
occasion   on   the   way  to   write   the   Dvike   a   lecture   on 


292  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

impetuosity.  The  letter  of  the  loth  of  May  is  an-imperish- 
able  monument  which  the  Duke  erected  to  his  own  and 
Goethe's  honour,  and  must  have  its  place  in  every  biography 
of  Goethe. 

"Herr  Geheimer  Rat:  Your  letter  of  the  24th  of  April 
was  duly  received.  In  it  you  tell  me  your  opinion  with 
all  the  uprightness  which  I  should  expect  of  so  sterling 
a  man  as  you.  You  demand  your  dismissal  from  the  service, 
because,  as  you  say,  you  can  no  longer  sit  in  a  collegium  of 
which  Doctor  Goethe  is  a  member.  As  a  matter  of  fact  this 
should  not  be  a  sufficient  reason  to  bring  you  to  such  a 
decision.  If  Doctor  Goethe  were  a  man  of  doubtful  char- 
acter, every  one  would  approve  yoiir  decision;  but  Goethe 
is  upright,  his  heart  is  extraordinarily  good  and  tender, 
I  am  not  the  only  person  pleased  with  him;  men  of  great 
insight  congratulate  me  on  the  possession  of  such  a  man. 
His  mental  capacity  and  genius  are  known.  You  yourself 
will  understand,  that  such  a  man  would  not  endure  the 
tedious  and  mechanical  labour  of  working  up  from  the 
bottom  in  a  Council  of  State.  Not  to  employ  a  man  of 
genius  in  the  place  where  he  can  make  use  of  his  extra- 
ordinary talents  is  to  abuse  him ;  I  hope  you  are  as  convinced 
of  the  truthfulness  of  this  statement  as  I  am.  Touching 
the  point,  that  by  this  means  many  meritorious  people 
who  had  some  title  to  this  position  were  set  aside,  I  know 
of  no  one  in  my  service  who  aspired  to  it ;  secondly,  I  shall 
never  bestow  a  position  which  stands  in  such  immediate 
relation  to  me  personally,  and  to  the  weal  and  woe  of  my 
subjects,  on  the  basis  of  seniority ;  I  shall  be  guided  only  by 
my  confidence  in  the  man.  As  for  the  judgment  of  the 
world,  which  would  disapprove  of  my  putting  Doctor 
Goethe  in  my  most  important  collegium  without  his  having 
been  either  a  magistrate,  professor,  councillor  on  the  Board 
of  Domains,  or  councillor  on  the  Government  Board,  this 
does  not  affect  my  judgment  in  the  least;  the  world  judges 
according  to  its  prejudices,  but  I,  as  well  as  every  other  man 
who  wishes  to  do  his  duty,  do  not  work  for  fame,  but  that  I 
may  be  able  to  justify  myself  before  God  and  my  own 


arrival  In  Tanelmar  293 

conscience,  and  I  seek  to  act  without  any  thought  of  the 
applause  of  the  world.  In  consideration  of  all  this  I  con- 
fess myself  greatly  surprised  that  you,  Herr  Geheimer  Rat, 
decide  to  leave  me  now,  at  the  very  moment  when  you 
yourself  must,  and  certainly  do,  feel  how  much  I  need  you. 
Consider  how  strange  it  must  seem  to  me  that,  instead  of 
taking  pleasure  in  giving  a  capable  young  man,  like  the  oft- 
mentioned  Goethe,  the  benefit  of  the  experience  you  have 
gained  in  twenty- two  years  of  faithful  service,  you  prefer  to 
leave  my  service  in  a  way  insulting  alike  to  Doctor  Goethe 
and,  I  cannot  deny  it,  to  me.  For  it  is  as  if  it  were  a  dis- 
grace for  you  to  sit  in  a  collegium  with  one  whom  I,  as  you 
know,  consider  my  friend,  and  who  has  never  given  occasion 
to  be  despised,  has  rather  merited  the  love  of  all  upright 
men."  At  the  end  the  Duke  remarks :  "  You  are  your  own 
lord  and  master  and  may  do  what  you  like;  I  should 
consider  it  an  injustice  to  curtail  the  liberties  of  anybody 
whomsoever  in  such  important  events  of  his  life,  but  how  I 
wish  you  might  come  to  a  different  decision!" 

Thus  Karl  August  does  not  even  now  sever  the  bond 
which  unites  him  to  Fritsch.  He  gives  the  minister,  in 
flattering  form,  a  chance  to  retract.  But  Fritsch  remains 
immovable.  In  another  letter  of  the  following  day  he  em- 
phasises the  fact  that  it  was  far  from  his  intention  to  offend 
the  Duke,  but  asserts  that  he  cannot  change  his  decision. 

Accordingly,  there  seemed  to  be  no  prospect  of  retaining 
the  minister.  The  Duke  could  make  no  further  advances 
without  humiliating  himself,  and  Goethe  was  neither  able 
nor  willing  to  retire;  not  merely  because  his  resignation 
would  have  done  no  good,  but  he  was  most  firmly  con- 
vinced that  it  would  have  brought  unspeakable  harm  to  the 
duchy.  Who  else  was  able  to  harness  the  volcanic  powers 
of  the  Duke  and  make  them  a  source  of  blessing?  As  a  last 
resort,  the  Duchess  Dowager  was  implored  to  interv^ene. 
She  stood  equally  close  to  Fritsch  and  to  Goethe.  Fritsch 
had  been  her  confidential  adviser  for  fourteen  years  and 
they  had  laboured  together  in  perfect  harmony.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  penetrating  eye  of  the  Princess  had  quickly 


294  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

recognised  the  incomparable  treasures  deposited  in  Goethe's 
soul,  no  matter  imder  what  disguise  they  appeared.  Since 
she,  as  a  mother  and  an  ex-regent,  could  have  only  the  wel- 
fare of  her  son  and  of  the  country  in  view,  and  since  she 
spoke  as  the  minister's  friend,  her  voice  could  not  but  have 
the  greatest  weight.  She  wrote  * :  "  My  son,  the  Duke,  has 
shown  his  confidence  in  me  by  laying  before  me  the  cor- 
respondence that  has  passed  between  him  and  you  with 
regard  to  the  reorganisation  which  has  become  necessary. 
In  it  I  am  pained  to  see  that  it  is  your  purpose  to  forsake 
my  son,  and  that,  too,  in  a  moment  when  you  are  most  in- 
dispensable to  him.  The  reasons  which  you  adduce  have 
caused  me  deep  sorrow ;  they  are  tmworthy  of  such  a  clever 
man  as  you,  with  your  knowledge  of  the  world.  You  are 
prejudiced  against  Goethe,  whom  you  probably  know  only 
from  untrue  reports,  or  you  judge  him  from  a  false  point  of 
view.  You  know  how  dear  to  my  heart  is  the  fame  of  my 
Son,  and  how  I  have  laboured  and  still  labour  daily  that  he 
may  be  surrounded  by  men  of  honour.  If  I  thought 
Goethe  a  cringing  creature,  to  whom  no  interest  was  sacred 
•but  his  own,  and  whose  every  act  was  prompted  by  am- 
bition, I  should  be  the  first  to  oppose  him.  I  shall  not 
speak  to  you  of  his  talents,  of  his  genius,  I  shall  refer  only 
to  his  moral  character.  His  religion  is  that  of  a  good,  true 
Christian,  and  teaches  him  to  love  his  neighbour  and  to 
seek  to  make  him  happy.  That  is,  after  all,  the  first  and 
chief  desire  of  our  Creator.  Make  Goethe's  acquaintance, 
try  to  learn  to  know  him.  You  are  aware  that  I  first  ex- 
amine my  people  thoroughly  before  passing  judgment  con- 
cerning them,  that  I  have  had  a  great  deal  of  practical 
experience  in  such  examinations,  and  that  I  judge  impar- 
tially. Believe  a  friend  who  is  truly  devoted  to  you  both 
from  gratitude  and  affection.  Even  if  my  son,  the  Duke, 
had  taken  an  overhasty  step,  did  you  not  satisfy  your  whole 
obligation  when  you  called  his  attention  to  the  fact?  and 
if  he  persists,  is  it  your  blunder?     It  seems  to  me  the  world 

*  The  original  letter  is  in  French. 


arrival  In  TKHelmar  295 

would  blame  you  if  you  were  to  forsake  a  prince  who  has 
need  of  your  insight  and  uprightness.  Judge  yourself 
whether  or  not  it  is  in  harmony  with  the  religion  which 
you  confess.  Think  it  over  once  more  to  yourself ;  I  know 
your  gratitude;  I  beg  you,  out  of  love  for  me,  do  not 
forsake  my  son  under  these  circumstances;  this  is  my  ad- 
vice and  my  petition." 

The  letter  had  the  desired  effect.  The  austere  Fritsch 
withdrew  his  resignation,  and,  by  the  decree  of  June  ii, 
1776,  Goethe  was  made  Geheimer  Legationsrat,  with  a 
seat  and  a  voice  in  the  Coimcil  and  a  salary  of  1200  thalers. 
After  the  close  of  the  incident  Goethe  wrote,  not  without 
feeling,  to  his  old  Wetzlar  friends,  the  Kestners,  now  in 
Hanover:  "The  Duke,  with  whom  I  have  now  been  asso- 
ciated nearly  nine  months  in  the  truest  and  closest  soul- 
sympathy,  has  finally  bound  me  also  to  his  affairs;  out  of 
our  love  has  arisen  a  marriage,  and  may  God  add  his  bless- 
ing!"  The  touching  aspect  and  the  grandeur  of  this  imique 
relation  found  no  less  beautiful  expression  in  a  letter  which 
the  Duke,  through  Kalb,  directed  to  Goethe's  parents.  In 
it  he  told  them  that,  if  traditional  formalities  had  not  made 
it  necessary,  he  never  should  have  thought  of  offering  their 
son  any  other  position  than  that  of  his  friend,  knowing  only 
too  well  that  all  others  were  beneath  his  worth.  At  the 
same  time  they  were  informed  that  Goethe  was  to  receive 
the  position,  but  retain  his  complete  liberty.  He  begged 
them  to  give  their  consent,  which  would  be  the  easier  for 
them  when  they  considered  for  how  many  thousands  of 
people  happiness  would  be  preserved  by  this  sacrifice. 

The  last  sentence  shows  what  unlimited  confidence  the 
Duke  had  in  Goethe's  political  wisdom,  and  what  influence 
and  authority  he  intended  to  invest  him  with  as  an  ex- 
pression of  this  confidence.  And,  in  fact,  Goethe  was  in 
these  early  years  the  soul  of  the  Weimar  Government.  He 
occasionally  calls  himself  the  second  man  in  the  kingdom, 
and  Seckendorff  sarcastically  calls  him  the  Duke's  suc- 
cesseur.  Wieland  wrote:  "Goethe  lives  and  rules  and 
storms  and  gives  rain  and  sunshine,  and  makes  us  happy. 


296  Z\)c  Xlfe  of  (Boctbe 

no  matter  what  he  does."  Lavater's  words  had  been  ful- 
filled: "Goethe  would  be  a  splendid  man  of  authority  with 
a  prince.  That  is  where  he  belongs.  He  has  the  making 
of  a  king." 

Whoever  can  make  others  happy  is  happy  himself. 
Goethe  felt  this  in  his  political  activity,  and  felt  it  react- 
ing on  him  for  good  in  still  another  way.  Practical  work 
formed  a  wholesome  counterpoise  to  his  passions  and 
imaginative  life.  True,  he  had  such  an  antidote  at  his  dis- 
posal in  Frankfort  in  his  practice  as  an  advocate ;  but  that 
was  so  odious  to  him  that  he  kept  as  far  away  from  it  as 
possible.  "Even  if  it  were  only  for  a  few  years,  still  it  is 
better  than  an  inactive  life  at  home,  where  with  the  best 
of  intentions  I  can  accomplish  nothing.  Here  I  have  a  few 
duchies  before  me"  (to  Johanna  Fahlmer,  February  14, 
1776).  Even  the  opposition  which  he  meets  is  welcome. 
The  gushing  spring  of  life-energy  does  not  grow  stagnant; 
it  keeps  up  a  refreshing  flow.  "As  I  am  now  in  a  position 
where  I  have  to  summon  all  my  powers  from  day  to  day, 
and  must  needs  meet  the  great  and  small  problems  of  love 
and  hate,  infamy  and  power,  with  my  own  heart  and  brain, 
I  am  happy"  (to  Burger,  February  2,  1776).  "  I  am  not 
what  you  would  call  overwhelmed  with  affairs  of  state,  but 
am  all  the  more  annoyed  by  that  which  is  at  the  bottom  of 
all  such  affairs,  viz.,  the  crazy  whims,  passions  and  follies, 
weaknesses  and  strong  points  of  men.  This  is  advan- 
tageous for  me  in  that  it  leaves  me  no  time  to  think  of  my- 
self, and  as  Frau  Aja  remembers  that  I  was  intolerable  when 
nothing  annoyed  me,  I  am  now  safe,  since  I  have  annoy- 
ances" (to  his  mother,  November  6,  1776).  It  must  have 
deepened  his  satisfaction  that  from  the  moment  when 
Fritsch  decided  to  remain  in  office  the  circle  of  his  admirers 
continually  increased.  This  was  a  signal  that  Goethe's  era 
signified,  not  an  immature  revolutionary  policy,  but  an  or- 
ganic union  of  the  present  with  the  vital  elements  of  the 
past. 

By  the  side  of  the  great  political  position  which  the  Duke 
bestowed  upon  his  favourite,  it  seems  very  unimportant  to 


arrival  in  Meimar  297 

speak  of  the  home  which  his  princely  friend  provided  for 
him.  But,  later  in  life,  when  Goethe  wished  to  boast  of 
what  the  Duke  had  given  him,  it  was  not  in  vain  that,  im- 
mediately after  "love,  leisure,  confidence"  he  mentioned 
"fields,  garden,  and  house."  A  nest  to  fit  his  fondest  de- 
sires was  for  young  Goethe,  so  dependent  upon  his  external 
surroinidings,  one  of  the  most  valuable  gifts.  Boettiger, 
quoting  the  ironical  but  quite  apt  remark  of  Bertuch,  says : 
"Goethe  could  not  capture  his  world-spirit  in  a  narrow, 
reeking  pool,  commonly  called  a  city."  He  longed  for  a 
dwelling  out  in  open  nature.  Hardly  did  the  Duke  learn 
his  wish  when  he  bought  him  a  cottage  (Gartenhaus)  on  the 
further  side  of  the  Ilm  valley  and  furnished  it  at  his  own 
expense.  Goethe  never  spent  happier  days  than  in  this 
plain  house  and  its  large,  terraced  garden.  On  the  17th  of 
May  he  writes :  "I  have  a  dear  little  garden  on  the  Ilm  out- 
side the  gate,  beautiful  meadows  in  a  valley.  There  is  a 
little  old  house  in  it,  which  I  am  having  repaired  for  me." 
On  the  i8th:  "10  p.m.  in  my  garden.  I  have  sent  my 
Philipp  [his  valet]  home  and  intend  to  sleep  here  the  first 
night  alone.  It  is  a  glorious  feeling  to  sit  out  here  alone  in 
the  field.  How  beautiful  the  morning!  Everything  is  so 
still.  I  hear  only  the  ticking  of  my  watch,  and  the  wind, 
and  the  weir  from  the  distance." 

Srf)  gcf)'  meincn  altcn  ©ang 
5!)?cinc  licbe  SBicfc  lang, 
bandit  mici)  in  bie  Sonne  frfi^, 
^ab'  ah  im  9J?onbc  bes  Jagce  Wfi^* 

Goethe  had  become  a  baron  in  his  own  domain. 

The  agreeable  circumstances,  both  private  and  public, 
under  which  he  took  up  his  abode  in  Weimar  were  full  of 
honour  and  rich  in  promise  for  the  future,  and,  in  the  case 
of  any  other  man,  would  have  been  sufficient  to  explain  a 

*  I  go  my  accustomed  way 
By  my  meadow  dear  each  day, 
Plunge  at  morn  into  the  sun, 
Lave  off  fatigue  in  the  evening  moon. 


298  Zhc  Xlfe  of  ©oetbe 

declaration  made  by  him  in  the  simimer  of  1776,  that  his 
position  was  the  happiest  of  which  the  human  imagination 
could  dream.  But  with  Goethe  this  was  not  explanation 
enough.  When  he  uses  such  a  strong  expression,  we  may 
be  sure  that  that  element  was  added  which  he  calls  the 
"crown  of  life,"  "happiness  without  peace,"  viz.,  love.  It 
came  to  him  through  Charlotte  von  Stein. 


XXI 


FRAU    VON    STEIN 

Secret  of  Frau  von  Stein's  influence  on  Goethe — Weimar  shocked  at  their 
intimacy — Goethe's  influence  on  Frau  von  Stein — Her  inner 
struggle — She  seeks  to  keep  him  within  bounds — Proserpina — He 
seeks  to  replace  love  with  friendship,  till  he  discovers  that  his 
love  is  returned — Marriage  of  souls — Extraordinary  influence  on 
Goethe  and  his  later  writings — He  takes  her  into  all  his  secrets  and 
writes  for  her — Gloomy  forebodings. 

GOETHE'S  relation  to  Charlotte  von  Stein  was  the 
most  remarkable,  most  important,  most  enduring, 
that  he  ever  had  with  any  woman.  Not  a  beauti- 
ful, charming  maiden,  not  a  lovely  rosebud,  not  even  a  full- 
blown rose,  such  as  often  reaches  its  full  splendour  at  the 
noontime  of  life,  but  a  suffering,  miarried  woman,  almost 
faded,  agreeable  in  appearance,  but  not  what  would  be 
called  beautiful,  the  mother  of  seven  children,  and  herself 
seven  years  older  than  Goethe, — such  was  the  woman  who 
aroused  in  him  passionate  love  and  sentimental  adoration. 
And  the  waves  of  ardent  passion  did  not  subside  after 
a  few  months,  as  heretofore  in  the  case  of  his  heart's  chosen 
ones;  they  surged  through  his  soul  for  twelve  years  with 
little  to  indicate  any  diminution  of  his  ardour. 

What  were  the  qualities  that  enabled  Frau  von  Stein  to 
triumph  over  all  the  lovely  girls  that  Goethe  met  on  his 
journey  through  life?  At  bottom  it  was  only  one  quality, 
but  this  one  was  enough  to  give  her  the  strongest  influence, 
in  fact,  what  seems  to  us  a  wonderful,  magic  power  over  him : 
she  was  able  thoroughly  to  understand  the  soul  of  this 
enigmatical  man,  who  was  inclined  to  conceal  rather  than 

299 


300  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

to  reveal  his  deepest  emotions.  Other  noble  and  delicately 
sensitive  women,  such  as  Lili,  or  men  of  keen  perceptions, 
like  Merck,  had  in  large  measure  understood  his  eccentric 
genius,  but  Frau  von  Stein  was  the  first  to  comprehend  him 
in  all  his  aspects.  What  such  a  comprehension  of  his  inner- 
most being  meant  to  him,  especially  during  his  Storm-and- 
Stress  years,  he  expressed  with  deep  feeling  in  these  verses, 
written  immediately  after  the  first  months  of  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Frau  von  Stein  (April,  1776) : 

^anntcft  jcbcn  3119  in  tneinem  SScfen,  •    • 

@pal)tc[t,  luic  bic  rcinfte  9lcnie  flingt, 

It'onntcft  mid)  mit  cincm  33licfe  Icfen, 

®en  fo  fc^roer  cin  ftcrblid)  Slug'  burc^bringt. 

jl;ropftc[t  Wd^igung  bcm  [)ci§cn  ^Iiite, 
9lid)tetcft  ben  roilbcn,  irrcn  Saitf, 
Unb  in  beincn  (SngeBarmcn  rii[)te 
®ie  jerftorte  SBriift  \\i)  roieber  auf.* 

We  seem  to  be  in  the  presence  of  Iphigenia,  majestic, 
pure,  and  wise,  as  she  casts  the  torturing,  maddening  furies 
out  of  the  soul  of  Orestes.  To  the  poet  the  prophetic  eye 
of  his  beloved  seemed  so  supernatural,  the  harmony  of  her 
soul  with  his  so  strange,  that  he  thought  it  could  not  be 
explained  otherwise  than  by  the  mystery  of  their  pre-ex- 
istence  in  close  union : 

©og',  trie  banb  bci^  ®d)idffal  nn§  fo  rein  genan  ? — 
5ld),  bn  marft  in  abgelcbtcn  3eiten 
5[J?eine  8c^roe[ter  ober  mcinc  ^ran  !  t 

*  Thou  didst  know  each  secret  of  my  being, 
Tingling  of  each  nerve  didst  recognise, 
Hadst  the  subtle  power  of  clearly  seeing 
Depths  almost  obscured  from  mortal  eyes. 

Thou  didst  lend  restraint  to  my  excesses, 
Bid  my  wild  and  wayward  striving  cease, 
And  in  thine  angelic,  fond  caresses 
Found  my  troubled  bosom  blessed  peace. 

t  Speak.     How  bound  us  fate  in  such  harmonious  life? 
Thou,  alas,  wast  in  some  former  state 
Or  my  sister  or  my  loving  wife! 


^ -■..->*fi'.,v.i«  > 


^A;v^>r^^..T,i- 


**i*-.'j^^. -^;  :5>»- V'^-V  .-■ 


,^^s^::->  Va^^^  Hv;;*^'--vxv 


1*RAU  VON  Stein 

(From  Konnecke's  Bilderatlas) 


jfrau  vow  ^tein  301 

His  happiness  over  having  found  such  a  being  tempted 
him  to  burst  through  the  barriers  of  custom  and  law  in  his 
associations  with  her.  With  his  frankness  and  innocence 
it  was  far  from  him  to  conceal  his  feelings.  But  liberal  as 
were  the  views  in  Weimar  on  the  proper  relation  between 
man  and  woman,  and  customary  as  were  the  tender  gal- 
lantries of  men  toward  the  married  and  unmarried  objects 
of  their  love,  the  passionateness  of  Goethe's  love  attentions 
to  Frau  von  Stein  transcended  by  far  the  usual  bounds,  and 
gave  offence  to  the  world,  though  very  little,  or  none  what- 
ever, to  her  husband.  Master  of  the  Horse  von  Stein,  dull 
and  materialistic,  showed,  in  his  noon  and  evening  meals  at 
the  Court  table,  in  a  quiet  game,  in  the  princely  stables,  in 
his  Weimar  carriage  factory,  or  in  his  Kochberg  distillery 
and  fat  oxen,  an  infinitely  greater  interest  than  in  the  visits 
which  Goethe  paid  his  wife,  or  the  tender  messages  which 
passed  between  them.  He  probably  looked  upon  the  woo- 
ing much  as  men  of  his  estate  six  centuries  before  had  upon 
the  languishing  homage  paid  to  their  wives  by  enraptured 
minnesingers.  Indeed,  he  may  not  have  been  the  least 
displeased  with  Goethe's  associations  with  his  wife,  as  long 
as  the  poet  did  not  go  to  extremes. 

The  life  of  Frau  von  Stein  had  taken  on  a  melancholy 
tinge.  Her  delicate,  gentle,  pure,  and  talented  nature, 
whose  equal,  according  to  Knebel,  could  hardly  be  foiind  in 
Germany,  had  met  with  no  appreciable  sympathy  from 
her  husband.  Behind  her  lay  eleven  years  of  a  joyless, 
apathetic  married  relation.  Of  the  seven  children  whom 
she,  in  the  midst  of  manifold  sufferings,  had  brought  into 
the  world,  four  had  already  been  borne  to  the  grave.  Lonely, 
sad,  ill,  she  sat  at  home  with  her  little  sons,  a  disagreeable, 
uncomfortable  sight  for  her  husband,  who  neither  could 
nor  would  give  up  the  Court  and  society.  Along  came 
Goethe,  entertained  and  cheered  her,  and  restored  her  to 
a  life  of  sociability.  Out  of  gratitude  the  Master  of  the 
Horse  not  only  tolerated  the  intimacy,  but  even  promoted 
it,  and  occasionally  consented  to  carry  greetings  and  letters 
from  the  good-hearted,  but  strange,  enthusiastic  admirer. 


302  TOe  Xlfe  of  (Boctbe 

to  whom  he  furthermore  gladly  intrusted  the  education  of 
his  children,  for  he  himself  had  no  time  to  look  after  them. 
But  other  and  stricter  natures — among  them  Charlotte's 
pious  mother,  a  woman  of  Scottish  descent — did  not  re- 
gard the  intimacy  so  lightly,  as  they  recognised  more  clearly 
its  deep  significance.  In  it  they  saw  not  only  a  trans- 
gression of  the  laws  of  propriety  and  higher  morality,  but, 
before  they  became  acquainted  with  Goethe's  conscien- 
tiousness and  chivalry,  they  doubtless  feared  worse  things 
from  a  continuation  of  the  intercourse.  Frau  von  Stein  was 
herself  filled  with  conflicting  emotions.  She  could  hardly 
make  herself  believe  that  she  did  not  return  Goethe's 
love.  The  great  change  which  had  taken  place  in  her  in- 
formed her  of  the  true  condition  of  her  heart.  Unfor- 
tunately we  do  not  possess  her  letters  to  Goethe.  Only  a 
single  one,  unless  we  are  deceived  by  a  plausible  supposition, 
seems  to  have  been  preserved  in  Die  Geschwister,  written 
in  the  autumn  of  1776.  This  letter  reads:  "The  world  is 
again  growing  dear  to  me — I  had  become  so  alienated  from 
it — and  it  is  all  through  you.  My  heart  reproaches  me ;  I 
feel  that  I  am  preparing  agony  for  you  as  well  as  for  myself. 
Six  months  ago  I  was  ready  to  die,  but  I  am  so  no  longer." 
This  letter,  whether  invented  or  copied  from  an  original, 
corresponds,  at  any  rate,  with  the  reality.  March  25,  1776, 
after  about  four  months  of  close  acquaintance,  Goethe,  who 
was  away  on  a  journey,  wrote  to  Frau  von  Stein:  "  Beyond 
Naumburg  the  sun  arose  to  meet  me !  Dear  friend,  a  sight 
full  of  hope,  fulfilment,  and  prophecy  .  .  .  the  sun 
shining  as  golden  as  ever — not  alone  to  these  eyes,  but  to 
this  heart  as  well.  Oh,  it  is  the  spring  which  never  runs 
dry!  the  fire  which  never  goes  out,  not  even  in  eternity! 
Best  of  women,  not  in  thee  either,  who  often  fanciest  that 
the  holy  spirit  of  life  has  forsaken  thee." 

But  the  more  plainly  Frau  von  Stein  feels  the  love  ani- 
mating her,  the  more  her  chaste  soul  is  disturbed. 

^b'6  Unrcd)t  i[t,  lon^  id)  cnuifiiibc, 

Hub  ob  id)  bujjcn  mu^  bic  mir  [0  licbc  3rinbe, 


yrau  von  Stein  303 

SSill  tnein  ©ctuiffen  tnir  nid)t  [agen; 

*iBernic^t'  eg  §imtnel  bu !    Scnn  tnic^'g  jc  fonnt  anflagcn — * 

she  once  wrote  upon  the  back  of  a  letter  from  Goethe.  In 
her  perturbation  she  defended  herself  bravely  against  her 
own  heart  and  against  the  passionate  advances  of  her  gifted 
lover,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was  little  beholden  to  her 
husband  for  his  conduct  toward  her.  She  firmly  insists 
that  Goethe  moderate  the  expressions  of  his  passion  and 
keep  more  aloof  from  her,  if  not  for  her  sake,  then  for  the 
world's.  At  this  rebuff  he  is  convulsed  with  grief.  He 
is  conscious  that  he  has  approached  her  with  the  purest 
intentions,  and  has  asked  nothing  of  her  that  one  human 
being  is  not  justified  in  asking  of  another,  viz.,  consol- 
ation, pacification,  enlightenment.  Shrill  cries  of  pain 
escape  his  bleeding  breast:  "Even  this  relation,  the  purest, 
most  beautiful,  most  sincere,  that  I  have  ever  borne  to  any 
woman  except  my  sister,  this,  too,  disturbed!  If  I  am  not 
to  live  with  you,  your  love  is  of  as  little  help  to  me  as  the 
love  of  my  absent  friends,  in  which  I  am  so  rich — and  all 
this  for  the  sake  of  the  world!  The  world,  which  itself  can 
be  nothing  to  me,  is  not  even  wilHng  that  thou  t  shalt  be 
anything  to  me.  You  know  not  what  you  are  doing.  The 
hand  of  one  who  shuts  himself  up  in  solitude,  and  does  not 
hear  the  voice  of  love,  presses  hea\^  where  it  lies"  (May  24, 
1776),  On  the  next  day,  in  deep  sorrow,  he  worked  at  a 
poem  which  he  was  to  write  for  Gluck  on  the  death  of  the 
latter's  niece.  What  was  she  to  him,  who  had  never  known 
her?  The  touching,  sorrowful  chords,  at  first  softly  swell- 
ing, then  dying  away  in  despair,  as  they  quiver  through  the 
monodrama,  Proserpina, ^^  the  final  form  into  which  he 
cast  the  dirge,  echo  his  grief  over  the  love-bond  with  Frau 

*  Is  't  wrong,  my  bosom's  deep  impression? 
And  must  I  yet  atone  for  this  so  dear  transgression? 
This  light  my  conscience  doth  refuse  me; 
Then  do  destroy  it,  Heaven,  if  e'er  it  could  accuse  me — 

t  This  confusion  of  pronouns  of  address  reproduces  the  Du  and  Sie 
of  the  German,  which  throws  a  strong  light  on  Goethe's  futile  attempt 
to  control  his  emotions. — C. 


04  Zhc  %\tc  of  Goetbe 


von  Stein,  which  apparently  had  vanished  into  the  realm 
of  the  shades.  During  the  next  few  months  he  pours 
forth  his  sorrow  in  ever  more  pleading,  more  yearning  tones. 
He  comes  to  her  beseechingly,  hke  a  punished  child  to  its 
mother:  "  Be  loving  to  me  as  of  yore,  and  I  will  write  more 
seldom  and  call  to  see  you  more  seldom."  And  again  he 
exclaims  Hke  a  grieving  penitent:  "For  a  time  you  have 
seemed  to  me  Hke  the  Madonna  ascending  to  heaven,  and 
in  vain  does  one  left  behind  reach  out  his  arms  toward  her, 
in  vain  does  his  parting,  tearful  glance  wish  hers  once  more 
turned  downward  toward  him;  she  is  absorbed  solely  in 
the  glory  that  surrounds  her,  full  only  of  longing  for  the 
crown,  which  hovers  over  her  head."  His  lamentations 
avail  him  nothing,  he  must  repress  his  overflowing  feeHngs, 
must  return  from  the  intimate  Du  to  the  courteous  Sie,  and 
moderate  his  love  to  a  placid  friendship. 

Their  associations  now  become  more  tranquil.  He  sub- 
mits to  the  conventional  forms  of  society,  and  this  pacifies 
the  world.  Their  own  peacefulness  and  the  composure  of 
others  gives  them,  however,  new  security  and  new  freedom. 
The  more  innocent  their  intercourse  begins  to  seem  to  the 
world,  as  it  does  to  themselves,  the  more  zealously  they  can 
cultivate  it.  Four  years  pass  by.  We  see  Frau  von  Stein 
firm  in  her  determination  not  to  allow  her  relation  to 
Goethe  to  exceed  the  bounds  of  friendship. 

Even  a  rock  cannot  resist  the  flood  ever  dashing  against 
it.  Daily  association  with  the  noble  man,  the  unHmited 
confidence  which  he  reposed  in  her,  his  unselfish  devo- 
tion, his  thousand-and-one  attentions,  his  touching  love 
of  the  children,  and,  finahy,  the  brilHancy  of  his  mind 
could  not  but  gradually  make  her  wholly  and  entirely  his ; 
and  there  was  need  only  of  exalted  moments  to  betray  to 
him  that  what  she  felt  for  him  was  more  than  friendship. 
Such  moments  came  in  the  year  1780,  and  he  joyfully  con- 
fided his  happiness  to  the  trees : 

<BaQ'  ic^'ei  cud),  ndicbtc  93aume, 
•©ic  id)  al)iibciuill  gcpflanjt, 


Ifrau  vow  Stein  305 

9llg  bic  iniinbcrbari'tcn  2^raumc 
5[)?orgcnr5tIid)  mid)  umtanjt? 
5lci^,  il)r  raipt  ces,  mic  id)  liebc, 
iDie  [0  )d)on  mid)  luicbcrlicbt, 
®ie  ben  rcini'tcn  mcincr  Jriebc 
9)?ir  nod)  rcincr  roicbcrgibt. 

Bringct  (2d)attcn,  troget  f$rud)tc, 
9lcue  ^rcube  jebcn  llog. 
9lur  bn^  ic^  fie  bid)tc,  bid^tc, 
®i^t  bei  i^r  gcnic^cn  mag.* 

But  as  yet  his  happiness  rests  more  on  sure  indications 
than  on  unequivocal  certainty.  The  latter  he  receives  in 
the  spring  of  1 781.  To  the  dear  woman's  confession  of  her 
love  he  answers  with  deep  earnestness:  "My  soul  has 
grown  fast  to  thine;  I  do  not  care  to  waste  words;  thou 
knowest  that  I  am  inseparably  bound  to  thee  and  that  no 
power  above  or  beneath  can  part  me  from  thee.  I  would 
there  were  some  vow  or  sacrament  that  could  make  me 
openly  and  legally  thine,  how  much  it  would  mean  to  me! 
And  my  novitiate  was  surely  long  enough  for  mature  con- 
sideration. Adieu.  I  cannot  write  Sie  any  longer,  just  as 
for  a  little  while  I  could  not  say  Du." 

A  new  springtime  of  love  has  begun  for  him,  and  new  words 
and  pictures  ever  pour  from  his  soul  in  glorification  of  his 
beloved.   His  prose  becomes  poetry,  his  love  ardour,  worship. 

"  The  Jews  have  phylacteries  which  they  bind  about  their 

*  Need  I  tell  you,  cherished  trees, 
Which  I  planted  hope-entranced, 
When  most  wondrous  fantasies 
Rosy-dawn-like  round  me  danced? 
How  I  love  her,  well  ye  know. 
Who  loves  me  so  tenderly. 
Who  my  bosom's  purest  glow 
Purer  still  returns  to  me. 

Bring  new  joy  with  every  day. 

Fruitage  bear  and  shade  provide. 

Oh,  that  I  enjoy  them  may. 

Nestled  closely  by  her  side! 
VOL.  1. — 20. 


3o6  Zbc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

arms  when  they  pray,  and  so  do  I  wind  thy  fair  band  about 
my  arm  when  I  direct  my  prayer  to  thee  and  wish  to  partake 
of  thy  goodness,  wisdom,  moderation,  and  patience.  I  beg 
thee  on  bended  knee,  finish  thy  work,  make  me  wholly  good." 
"Thy  love  is  to  me  like  the  morning  and  evening  star; 
it  sets  after  the  stin  and  rises  before  the  sun, — yea,  like  a 
pole-star,  that  never  sets,  but  weaves  an  ever-living  garland 
above  our  heads.  I  pray  that  in  all  my  path  of  Kfe  the 
gods  may  never  obscure  it." 

.     .     .     (Seit  id)  Don  T'ir  bin, 

8d)eint  mir  bee  jdjucUftcn  i^cbcne  Icirmenbe  ^eroegimg 

9htr  cin  leic^tcr  g-lor,  biird)  bcii  id)  1)eine  ©eftalt 

Smmcrfort  roic  in  SSolfcn  crblicfe ; 

Bit  Iciic^tet  mir  frcunblic^  iinb  trcii, 

SBie  biirc^  bcs  ^^?orblid}te  bcrocglic^c  Stra^Ien 

©itiige  Sterne  fd)imniern.* 

The  marriage  of  souls,  into  which  Goethe  had  entered 
with  Frau  von  Stein,  exerted  an  extraordinary  influence 
over  him:  "  I  cannot  say  and  dare  not  comprehend  what  a 
revolution  thy  love  is  effecting  in  my  inmost  being.  It  is 
a  condition  which,  old  as  I  am,  I  have  never  before  felt." 
"All  my  life  I  have  cherished  an  ideal  of  how  I  should 
like  to  be  loved,  and  have  sought  in  vain  its  realisation  in 
elusive  dreams;  but  now  that  the  world  is  daily  becoming 
clearer  to  me  I  find  it  at  last  in  thee,  in  a  way  that  I  can 
never  lose  it." 

Whereas  she  has  hitherto  been  his  pacifying  and  en- 
lightening confessor,  she  now  becomes  to  him  a  deity, 
sweetening  and  ennobling  his  whole  existence,  either  dis- 
covering the  latent  goodness,  greatness,  and  beauty  within 
him,  or  causing  them  to  well  forth  in  greater  abundance 

*.     .     .     Since  last  we  met 
Seems  the  noisy  motion  of  intensest  life 
But  a  filmy  veil  through  which  thy  form  I  see, 
As  it  hovers  ever  in  a  bank  of  cloud ; 
It  sends  me  kindly,  faithful  light. 
As  through  the  flash  of  the  northern  aurora 
Glisten  the  eternal  stars. 


jfrau  von  Stein  307 

and  fruitfulness.  "Thou  only  one,  to  whom  I  need  give 
nothing  that  I  may  find  everything  in  thee"  (March  20-21, 
1782).  To  him  she  becomes  accordingly  the  personifica- 
tion of  the  highest  things  in  the  natural  and  spiritual 
world.  Beloved,  muse,  sun,  purity,  truth,  beauty,  poetry 
blend  into  one  in  his  mind,  and  by  singing  of  these  majestic 
conceptions  and  things  he  can  at  the  same  time  in  his 
poetry  pay  homage  to  his  beloved.  At  first  sight  nothing 
is  more  unlike  the  personality  of  Frau  von  Stein  than  the 
religious  epic  of  humanity,  Die  Geheimnisse,  and  its  intro- 
duction, the  beautiful  stanzas  afterwards  placed  at  the 
beginning  of  Goethe's  works  under  the  title  Zueignung. 
And  yet  there  is  an  intimate  connection  between  them, 
as  we  know  from  the  poet's  own  words.  "I  hope  thou 
hast  now  the  beginning  of  the  poem,"  he  writes  to  her 
August  II,  1784;  "thou  wilt  take  from  it  what  is  meant 
for  thee.  It  was  indeed  a  pleasure  to  me  to  tell  thee  in 
this  way  how  much  I  love  thee."  Twelve  days  later  he 
writes:  "I  love  the  poem  so  much,  because  in  it  I  can 
speak  under  a  thousand  forms  of  thee,  and  of  my  love 
for  thee,  without  anybody  but  thee  perceiving  it."  In 
the  fragment,  Die  Geheimnisse,  we  ourselves  are  unable  to 
discover  any  reference  to  Frau  von  Stein,  unless  perchance 
the  cross  with  roses  as  a  symbol  of  love  may  be  construed 
as  one.  Out  of  the  Zueignung,  however,  there  shines  forth 
with  striking  clearness  to  one  initiated  the  image  of  her 
glorified  personality.  The  Madonna  who  ascended  to 
heaven,  without  taking  pity  on  the  one  left  behind  with 
hands  outstretched  toward  her,  has  graciously  turned 
toward  him  again  in  her  glory,  and  out  of  the  hand  of 
truth  bestows  upon  him  peace,  enlightenment,  and  the  veil 
of  poetry.  There  is  not  a  line  in  the  dialogue  between  the 
poet  and  the  divine  muse  which  has  not  its  parallel  in 
Goethe's  letters  or  poems  to  his  loved  one;  indeed,  many 
of  them  are  better  fitted  for  a  dialogue  between  the  earthly 
prototypes  than  for  that  between  the  poetic  copies.  A 
great  many  other  compositions,  both  large  and  small,  are 
monimients  erected  by  Goethe  to  his  love  for  her.     When 


3o8  Zbc  %\tc  Of  (Boetbe 

we  come  to  the  consideration  of  Iphigenie  and  Tasso  it  will 
meet  our  eyes  once  more  in  poetic  beauty. 

What  we  have  said  in  general  about  the  significance  of 
Charlotte  von  Stein  to  Goethe  by  no  means  exhausts  the 
amount  of  benefit  which  he  derived  from  their  intimate 
association.  Through  their  frequent,  at  times  daily,  con- 
versations and  through  her  uncommon  talents  and  educa- 
tion she  becomes  the  wise,  thoughtful  companion  of  his 
entire  intellectual  life.  He  reads  with  her  Spinoza's  Ethica 
and  Buff  on 's  Epoques  de  la  Nature,  demonstrates  to  her 
conic  sections  and  microscopic  preparations,  becomes  ab- 
sorbed with  her  in  the  bony  structure  of  man,  and  in  the 
secrets  of  plant  life,  in  the  orbits  of  the  stars,  and  in  the 
history  of  the  earth's  crust,  reads  with  her  the  literatures 
of  ancient  and  modern  times,  and  grants  her  uninterrupted 
access  to  the  poetic  workshop  of  his  creating  genius.  She 
is  to  him  the  chief  and  dearest  public,  to  whom  he  first  un- 
veils the  new-bom  children  of  his  muse,  as  she  not  infre- 
quently is  the  only  public  he  has  in  mind  while  engaged  in 
y  poetic  creation.  Such  a  communion  of  spirits  it  had  never 
before  been  his  lot  to  enjoy.  "How  glad  I  am,"  he  ex- 
claims on  one  occasion,  "that  thou  art  interested  in  every- 
thing, and  that  I  find  in  thee  a  dear  companion  for  all 
my  undertakings."  It  gave  him  a  foretaste  of  the  noblest 
happiness  of  wedded  life,  and  we  can  understand  why,  in 
this  feeling  of  happiness,  he  says  it  would  wreck  his  life  if 
he  were  to  part  from  his  beloved;  why  he  weeps  bitter 
tears  when  he  merely  thinks  of  the  possibility  of  losing 
her;  and  why,  in  order  to  avert  the  envy  of  the  gods,  he 
will  throw  the  ring  she  has  given  him  into  the  water.  "  The 
envy  of  the  gods."  His  premonition  was  only  too  correct. 
With  the  development  of  things  and  of  his  own  personality 
there  grew  up  implacable  powers,  too  mighty  for  him,  which 
were  destined  first  to  cast  shadows  over  the  noble  intimacy 
and  then  to  bury  it. 

But  before  passing  to  these  painful  final  stages  let  us 
consider  how  the  lover  carries  out  the  "world  role,"  which 
he  has  undertaken  with  so  much  daring  and  so  much  joy. 


XXII 

THE   MINISTER 

Goethe's  political  education — Extensive  intercourse  -with  statesmen — 
Rare  power  and  habit  of  observation — Attitude  toward  literature 
read — Karl  August's  education — Description  of  the  duchy — 
Goethe  educates  the  Duke  up  to  his  ideas  of  government — Method 
and  results — The  Duke's  reception  of  his  guidance — Goethe  often 
misunderstood — The  Weimar  factotum — Lends  willing  hand  in 
times  of  need — Introduces  order  into  War  Department — Reforms 
Treasury  Department — Social  and  political  reforms  planned,  but 
only  partially  carried  out — In  international  poUtics — Visit  to 
Berlin — Weimar's  dangerous  position — League  of  Princes. 

GOETHE  brought  to  his  office  a  much  broader  politi- 
cal education  than  is  commonly  supposed.  If  a 
knowledge  of  public  law  and  actual  conditions  is 
the  first  qualification  of  a  statesman,  and  especially  of  one 
who  is  called  to  a  position  of  authority,  Goethe  was  emi- 
nently qualified.  Early  in  life  he  had  been  made  acquainted 
\^4th  the  public  law  of  the  German  Empire  and  individual 
states  by  his  father  and  the  family  friends,  Assessor  Olen- 
schlager,  Reineck,  resident  of  the  Electorate  of  Saxony, 
and  Husgen,  accredited  pri\w  councillor  to  various  princes 
of  the  Empire.  This  knowledge  was  supplemented  by 
university  study  and  residence  at  the  Imperial  Chamber. 
His  associations  in  his  grandfather's  house  had  given  him 
an  instructive  insight  into  practical  statecraft.  Not  only 
did  he  there  become  familiar  with  the  machinery  of  his 
native  state,  small  though  it  was,  but  from  this  point  of 
vantage  he  extended  his  obser\^ations  to  other  German  and 
foreign  states,  in  so  far  as  they  had  dealings  with  Frankfort. 

309 


3IO  Zbc  %xtc  of  6oetbe 

Especially  during  the  Seven  Years'  War  had  the  imperial 
city  come  into  touch  with  the  greater  powers  of  Europe, 
and  young  Goethe,  as  a  grandson  of  the  chief  magistrate, 
had  formed  clearer  conceptions  of  their  mihtary  and  diplo- 
matic activities,  their  influential  men  and  their  several 
strengths  than  many  a  mature  man  possessed,  who  had 
acquired  his  information  from  newspapers  and  books.  As 
time  went  on,  his  personal  acquaintance  with  high  officials 
widened.  Among  them  we  may  mention  the  great  Darm- 
stadt minister,  Karl  Friedrich  von  Moser,  whose  Herr  und 
Diener  had  strongly  influenced  Goethe  as  a  boy;  Military 
Coimcillor  Merck  and  Privy  Councillor  Hesse,  both  likewise 
of  Darmstadt;  Chancellor  of  the  Electorate  of  Treves  von 
Laroche  of  Ehrenbreitstein ;  Councillor  of  Finance  of  the 
Electorate  of  the  Palatinate  Fritz  Jacobi  of  Diisseldorf ,  who 
was  not  only  a  sentimental  poetising  philosopher,  but  also 
a  thorough  political  economist  with  ideas  of  sweeping  re- 
form; former  Minister  of  the  Electorate  of  Mainz  von 
Groschlag  of  Dieburg ;  the  Baden  Minister  von  Edelsheim 
of  Karlsruhe,  one  of  the  most  eminent  statesmen  of  Ger- 
many in  that  period,  and  his  subaltern,  Superior  Judge  J. 
G.  Schlosser,  Goethe's  brother-in-law,  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished officials  having  to  do  with  affairs  of  general 
interest  to  the  margraviate.  To  these  may  be  added  the 
many  experienced  statesmen  whom  Goethe  met  in  Wetzlar. 
It  would  be  wrong  to  suppose  that  Goethe  conversed 
with  these  men  about  none  but  belletristic  or  purely 
human  things;  on  the  contrary,  from  manifold  indica- 
tions we  may  take  it  for  granted  that  statecraft  was  a 
theme  often  and  seriously  discussed.  His  political  educa- 
tion was  due,  however,  less  to  early  instruction  and  per- 
sonal intercourse  than  to  his  study  of  countries  and  peoples. 
To  this  he  brought  an  interest  as  great  as  his  talent.  His 
extraordinary  imagination  was  accompanied  by  an  extra- 
ordinary power  of  objective  and  penetrative  observation. 
While  other  mortals  usually  receive  only  a  fragmentary 
conception  and  impression  of  real  conditions,  they  were 
revealed  to  his  open  eyes  and  impressed  upon  his  open  mind 


Zbc  flDinleter  311 

in  their  entirety.  Even  when,  as  a  boy,  he  was  sent  by  his 
father  to  the  craftsmen,  he  did  not  merely  watch  them  at 
their  work,  but  looked  into  their  business  and  social  con- 
ditions and  sought  to  form  general  ideas  of  the  mutual  in- 
fluences of  occupation  and  life.  This  was  his  method 
everywhere  and  at  all  times.  Hence  Fraulein  von  Kletten- 
berg  was  fully  justified  in  saying  to  his  mother:  "When 
your  Wolfgang  goes  to  Mainz,  he  brings  back  more  know- 
ledge than  others  returning  from  Paris  or  London."  What 
pains  he  took  in  Alsatia  to  become  acquainted  with  general 
economic  conditions,  the  mines,  smelting- works,  factories, 
etc.,  we  have  already  seen.  Elsewhere,  too,  especially  in 
Saxony,  we  can  see  that  he  made  good  use  of  time  and  op- 
portunity for  the  same  purpose. 

His  rare  knowledge  of  the  real  factors  of  the  life  of  the 
people  and  of  the  state  gradually  made  him  less  and  less 
susceptible  to  general  doctrines  and  artificial  ideals  of 
state,  such  as  were  niutured  in  France  and  reflected  in 
Haller's  Usong  or  Wieland's  Der  goldene  Spiegel.  He 
failed  to  see  how,  with  such  abstractions  as  a  starting-point, 
particular  institutions,  existing  under  definite  conditions, 
could  be  improved.  Such  a  book  as  Moser's  Patriotische 
Phantasien  must,  on  the  other  hand,  have  appealed  to  him 
very  strongly.  Here  a  man  in  practical  life  had  started 
from  actual  conditions,  and  out  of  his  mature  experience 
had  made  suggestions  for  improvement,  first  of  all  in  his 
own  immediate  vicinity,  that  of  Osnabruck.  He  had  in- 
vestigated the  questions  of  how  best  to  promote  agriculture 
and  trade,  and  prevent  too  deep  indebtedness ;  how  to  find 
the  proper  mean  between  complete  freedom  and  complete 
bondage  of  the  individual  with  respect  to  the  disposal  of 
his  person  and  his  property;  what  was  the  most  feasible 
system  of  poor  laws;  whether  foreign  competition  was  to 
be  tolerated  and  reciprocal  free  trade  granted;  whether 
colonists  should  be  induced  to  immigrate ;  whether  the  in- 
terior cities  should  not  act  independently  of  seaports  and  of 
England  in  their  transmarine  commerce,  the  neighbouring 
estates  of  the  realm  imite  in  common  enterprises  instead  of 


3 1 2  Zl)c  Xlf e  of  (Boetbe 

secretly  fighting  each  other,  and  the  imperial  diets  and 
dietines  be  devoted  less  to  petty  formalities  and  more  to 
trade  and  traffic;  how  the  constitutions  of  cities  might  be 
reformed,  and  a  large  number  of  other  subjects,  now  limiting 
himself  to  minutiae  and  now  rising  to  exalted  points  of  view. 

In  these  reflections,  to  which  Moser's  daughter  gave  the 
infelicitous  title,  Patriotische  Phantasien,  Goethe  found 
practical  statecraft,  and  they  enkindled  his  own  patriotic 
fantasies.  For  it  was  easy  for  him  to  see  that  Moser's 
suggestions  and  method  could  also  be  made  fruitful  for 
other  German  states.  He  was  enthusiastic  in  the  ex- 
pression of  his  gratitude  to  Moser's  daughter  for  the  pub- 
lication of  her  father's  essays.  "  I  carry  them  about  with 
me;  whenever  and  wherever  I  open  them  I  have  a  feeling 
of  satisfaction,  and  hundreds  of  wishes,  hopes,  and  plans 
evolve  themselves  in  my  soul"  (December  28,  1774). 

He  had  only  recently  met  Karl  August,  Crown  Prince 
of  Weimar,  and  presented  to  him  an  eloquent  report  on 
Moser's  book.  The  Prince  must  have  been  not  a  little 
astonished  to  see  with  what  warmth  and  technical  know- 
ledge the  author  of  Werther,  whom  he  may  have  considered 
an  idealistic  dreamer,  spoke  of  the  most  real  things  of  life, 
and  how  clearly  the  most  complicated  political  and  economic 
conditions  unravelled  themselves  before  this  poet's  eye,  and 
with  what  discretion  and  certainty  he  made  the  practical  ap- 
plication of  the  Lower  Saxon  conditions,  which  served  Moser 
as  a  foundation,  to  those  in  Upper  Saxony,  and,  by  implica- 
tion, to  those  in  Weimar.  Goethe's  explanations  must  have 
had  all  the  greater  weight  with  the  young  Prince,  as  the 
latter  at  that  time  had  had  little  experience  in  the  world 
and  in  the  actual  foundations  of  government.  Karl  August 
had  been  crammed  full  of  general  theories,  history  of  juris- 
prudence and  paragraphs  of  law  by  his  teachers — among 
them  impractical  Wieland,  who  "walked  about  in  the 
flower  gardens  of  his  Golden  Mirror" — and  had  less  in- 
sight into  the  reality  of  things  than  many  a  burgher's  son. 
Minister  von  Fritsch  had,  accordingly,  as  early  as  1773,  ex- 
pressed his  opinion  to  the  Duchess  that  it  was  not  advisable 


^be  flDlnleter  313 

to  allow  the  Prince  to  ascend  from  the  school  bench  to 
the  throne.  All  that  paid  teachers  with  their  everlasting 
lessons  could  drum  into  a  young  prince  about  public  law 
was  not  sufficient  preparation  for  reigning;  a  knowledge  of 
the  world  and  of  business  was  indispensable.  Therefore  he 
proposed  that  the  instructors  be  dismissed  and  the  Duke 
taken  into  the  Privy  Coimcil,  where  he  could  see  men  at 
work  and  perhaps  do  something  himself,  and  where  he 
could  acquire  a  knowledge  of  all  those  things  which  his 
teachers  could  not  teach  him.  But  as  a  consequence  of 
Anna  Amalia's  objections  the  Prince  was  not  admitted  to 
the  Coimcil  imtil  September,  1774,  and  then  only  tem- 
porarily, for  between  this  date  and  October,  1775,  he  spent 
eight  months  away  from  home.  Consequently  when  the 
young  Prince,  after  his  nuptial  festivities,  took  the  reins  of 
government  in  his  own  hands,  he  was  not  only  very  un- 
familiar with  the  country — the  same  was  true  of  Goethe — 
but  he  also  lacked  the  experience  and  training  necessary 
to  enable  him  to  grasp  quickly  the  conditions  in  city  and 
coimtry  and  to  form  a  sound  judgment  of  them,  Goethe 
possessed  precisely  these  qualifications,  and,  as  a  conse- 
quence, was  at  first  to  a  remarkable  degree  Karl  August's 
superior,  as  was  clearly  shown  by  the  ready  subordination 
of  the  otherwise  so  independent  Prince  to  the  will  of  his 
minister. 

Goethe  entered  the  highest  branch  of  the  government 
of  a  country  that  was  small  and  poor.  On  its  733  square 
miles  lived  about  100,000  inhabitants  ^^  in  22,000  families. 
The  chief  source  of  living  was  agriculture,  which,  with  the 
meagre  mountain  soil  and  severe  climate,  brought  small  re- 
turns. Some  woollen  and  linen  weaving,  stocking-making, 
and  glass  manufacture  were  the  modest  industries  of  the 
country.  Small  as  was  the  duchy,  it  was  neither  connected 
in  territory  nor  united  in  government.  It  was  divided  into 
no  less  than  four  political  divisions,  each  with  more  or 
less  independence:  the  Principality  of  Weimar,  the  Jena 
District,  the  Principality  of  Eisenach,  and  the  Henneberg 


314  tTbe  %itc  of  (Boetbe 

Districts,  or  the  so-called  Oberland,  which  extended  into 
Franconia.  These  diminutive  divisions  were  in  many  ways 
further  split  up  in  administration  and  territory.  Bits  of 
foreign  territory  were  scattered  about  everywhere  between 
sections  of  the  "fatherland,"  and  several  institutions  were 
held  in  common  with  the  territory  belonging  to  the  Emesti 
branch  of  the  Saxon  dynasty,  for  example,  the  University 
and  the  Superior  Court  of  Jena. 

It  was  a  hopeless  undertaking  to  govern  the  scattered 
and  surrounded  members  of  this  petty  state.  Nevertheless 
Goethe  devoted  himself  to  it  with  genuine  enthusiasm.  To 
establish  comparative  prosperity  in  this  country  and  a  free 
and  worthy  position  for  its  inhabitants  seemed  to  him 
worth  the  effort.  Furthermore,  there  was  the  hope  that 
the  duchy  might  possibly  become  the  nucleus  of  a  reform 
extending  to  the  greater  fatherland. 

Goethe  could  not  think  it  possible  to  accomplish  his 
purposes  otherwise  than  by  means  of  an  enlightened,  self- 
restrained  absolutism  devoted  to  the  welfare  of  the  country. 
Hence  the  most  important  preliminary  condition  of  his 
influence  and  of  the  whole  future  of  the  coimtry  was  that 
the  youthful  Duke,  inspired  with  the  best  purposes,  but  at 
times  overweening,  or  too  impetuous,  too  restless,  or  too 
indulgent  of  his  hobbies,  should  be  trained  to  rule  accord- 
ing to  the  above  standard.  How  Goethe  undertook  this 
work,  even  before  he  entered  the  office,  has  already  been 
indicated.  After  he  became  a  servant  of  the  state  he  con- 
tinued it  with  increased  energy  and  earnestness.  The  more 
absolute  the  Prince  was,  the  less  any  one  phase  of  his  con- 
duct could  be  neglected.  Goethe  accordingly  laid  a  firm 
hand  on  him  everywhere,  no  matter  whether  it  was  a  ques- 
tion of  his  family  life  or  of  his  flirtations,  of  his  passions  for 
dogs,  horses,  soldiers,  hunts,  or  of  his  official  bearing  and 
measures.  A  few  diary  notes  will  bring  this  more  vividly 
before  the  minds  of  our  readers  than  any  amount  of  prag- 
matic description: 

Jan.  lo,  1779. — "Evening  after  the  concert  a  radical 
declaration  to  the  Duke  about  Crone  [Corona]."     Feb.  i, 


^be  niMnleter  315 

1779. — "Council.  The  Duke  talked  too  much.  Dined 
with  the  Duke.  After  dinner  some  advice  about  too  much 
talking,  revealing  secrets,  compromising  his  dignity,  speak- 
ing, when  excited,  of  things  that  ought  not  to  be  uttered. 
Also  about  the  military  Makaronis  [dallying]."  Aug.  2, 
1779. — "Duke  came  at  ten  o'clock.  We  discussed  un- 
speakable things.  .  .  .  About  court,  wife,  other  people, 
about  knowing  people.  Explained  to  him,  why  this  and 
that  was  so  hard  for  him,  why  he  should  not  meddle  so  much 
with  details."  Jan.  19,  1782. — "Dined  with  the  Duke. 
Spoke  very  seriously  and  vigorously  about  economy  and 
against  a  number  of  false  ideas  which  he  cannot  get  out  of 
his  head."  A  passage  from  one  of  the  few  letters  which 
have  been  preserved  of  their  correspondence  before  1786  is 
also  instructive:  "Whatever  turn  your  affair  may  take, 
conduct  yourself  with  moderation,  and,  if  it  becomes  abso- 
lutely necessary,  withdraw  from  it,  without  quarrelling  with 
those  whom  you  have  drawn  into  it  and  compromised" 
(October  28,  1784).  Goethe  also  used  poetry  to  influence 
the  Duke,  now  in  a  veiled  way,  now  openly  and  directly,  as 
in  Ilmenau  (September  3,  1783),  the  strangest,  frankest 
birthday  poem  that  ever  minister  dedicated  to  his  lord. 
In  it  he  addresses  to  the  Duke  the  great  precept  w^hich,  in 
his  mind,  is  fvmdamental  for  a  sovereign:  "Restrain  thy- 
self, learn  to  forego." 

One  may  say  that  during  the  decade  from  1776  to  1786 
Goethe  meditated  almost  day  by  day  how  he  might  guide 
the  Duke  aright.  At  times  he  noted  down  the  results  of  his 
meditation  as  points  of  view  for  his  own  conduct  toward  the 
Duke.  In  December,  1778,  for  instance:  "Conversation 
with  the  Duke  about  order,  police,  and  laws.  Different 
opinion.  Mine  must  not  be  expressed  in  words.  It  might 
easily  be  misunderstood  and  become  dangerous."  In  July, 
1779:  "New  conduct  in  the  future.  Caution  with  the 
Duke.  Not  to  depart  from  a  certain  bearing,  and  to  deter 
the  Duke  from  doing  anything  for  himself;  for  he  is  still 
very  inexperienced,  especially  with  strangers." 

A  journey  to  Switzerland  in  the  autumn  and  winter  of 


3i6  ZTbc  life  of  (Boetbe 

1779  marks  a  great  step  forward  in  the  development  of 
the  Duke.  Goethe  counted  on  the  effect  of  isolation  with 
him  for  months,  on  the  influence  of  sublime  nature,  and  of 
Lavater.w^hose  contact,  after  the  manner  of  the  old  prophets, 
was  consecrating  and  purifying.  His  expectations  were  in 
no  wise  disappointed.  Karl  August's  inward  fermentation 
was  here  completed,  and  the  wild  youth  became  a  man. 
Toward  the  end  of  the  journey  Goethe  expressed  the  con- 
viction that  a  new  epoch  was  dawning  in  the  life  of  the 
Duke.  After  their  return  he  notes:  "Everybody  is  very 
well  pleased  with  the  Duke."  Whereas  before  the  journey 
the  project  had  been  looked  upon  by  Weimar  society  as  one 
of  Goethe's  crazy  notions,  as  a  Storm-and-Stress  fancy,  it 
was  now  pronounced  a  master-stroke. 

Karl  August  had  become  clearer-headed,  more  com- 
posed, more  harmonious  in  nature,  but  the  process  was  not 
as  yet  complete.  In  the  years  that  followed,  Goethe  still 
found  many  faults  to  correct  in  him,  and  we  still  hear  him 
utter  many  a  sharp  criticism.  But,  on  the  whole,  he  ex- 
perienced great  joy  over  the  splendid  development  of  the 
Prince. 

The  Duke,  far  from  ever  being  sensitive  on  the  point  of 
Goethe's  mentorship,  recognised  gratefully  at  all  times  how 
much  he  owed  to  the  poet's  wise  and  devoted  guidance. 
In  February,  1783,  when  a  long- wished  heir  to  his  throne 
was  born  he  wrote  to  Merck  the  characteristic  words :  "  Now 
a  solid  hook  has  been  driven  in,  on  w^hich  I  can  hang  up  my 
pictures.  With  the  help  of  Goethe  and  good  fortune  I 
shall  so  finish  painting  them  that  posterity  shall  perchance 
say:  ' Ed  egli  fu  pittore.'  " 

Unfortunately  Goethe's  own  official  career  has  not  yet 
been  satisfactorily  investigated;  partly  because  the  docu- 
ments are  too  few,  and  partly  because  they  have  not  been 
examined  critically.  Hence  we  are  dependent  chiefly  upon 
occasional  data  in  letters  and  diaries. 

There  can  be  no  greater  misconception  than  to  think 
that  Goethe  was  essentially  court  poet  and  directeur  des 
plaisirs,  and  only  incidentally  an  official.     To  be  sure,  it  is 


^be  riDlnlster  z^y 

easy  to  fall  into  this  error  because  of  the  lengthy  descrip- 
tions of  Goethe's  part  in  amateur  theatricals,  masquerades, 
and  similar  entertainments.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  these 
things  occupy  a  constantly  decreasing  share  of  his  time  and 
interest  during  the  decade  from  1776  to  1786  and  become 
gradually  more  a  burden  than  a  joy.  The  central  thing  in 
his  life  during  these  years  is  his  political  calling,  to  which  he 
devotes  all  his  strength. 

His  sphere  of  influence  extended  far  beyond  his  office, 
which  at  first  gave  him  only  a  moderate  amount  of  authority. 
As  Privy  Councillor  of  Legation  and  youngest  member  of 
the  Council  he  had  no  share  in  the  direction  or  management 
of  affairs;  he  merely  made  reports,  and  that  only  on  such 
matters  as  the  president.  Minister  von  Fritsch,  referred  to 
him.  With  the  aid  of  the  Duke  he  doubtless  had  many  of 
his  opinions  and  suggestions  adopted  as  resolutions.  It 
may  well  have  been  in  the  interest  of  both  that  Goethe  by 
virtue  of  his  office  should  be  able  immediately  and  regularly 
to  put  into  force  his  desires  and  opinions  in  certain  depart- 
ments of  the  government.  Consequently  in  January,  1779, 
the  Duke  bestowed  upon  him,  in  addition  to  his  position  in 
the  Council,  the  direction  of  the  War  Commission  and  the 
Commission  of  Highways  and  Canals,  and  soon  after  made 
him  an  actual  privy  councillor,  or,  as  we  say  nowadays,  a 
minister,  raising  him  to  equal  rank  with  Fritsch.  To  the 
three  offices  was  added  a  fourth  and  very  important  one  in 
1782,  the  presidency  of  the  Chamber  of  Finance,  which 
gave  him  control  of  all  finances  and  the  management  of  all 
domains  and  forests.*  Beside  the  many  tasks  imposed 
upon  him  by  these  offices — and  in  a  petty  state  they  in- 
volved going  into  smallest  details — he  was  further  occupied 
with  all  the  calls  which  the  Duke's  confidence  made  upon 
him. 

Accordingly  we  see  the  poet  struggling  with  an  infinite 
number  of  most  varied  problems.  He  studies  the  regula- 
tions of  the  excise  and  of  the  pawnshop,  and  the  rules  gov- 

*  In  the  same  year,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  Duke,  he,  much  against 
his  own  wish,  received  from  the  German  Emperor  a  patent  of  nobility- 


3i8  ^be  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

eming  the  manufacture  of  cloth,  devises  new  rules  for  the 
fire  department,  dictates  reflections  on  a  new  bankrupt  law, 
levies  recruits,  carries  on  a  correspondence  about  the  leather 
breeches  of  a  Hussar,  issues  orders  concerning  the  posts  on 
the  Weimar  promenade,  is  busy  with  the  construction  of 
roads  and  canals,  reformation  of  poorhouses,  division  of 
estates,  irrigation  of  meadows,  reopening  of  old  mines  and 
quarries,  appointing  of  professors  in  the  University  of  Jena, 
equipping  of  scientific  institutions,  prevention  of  damage 
to  farms  by  game,  balancing  of  finances,  and  a  thousand 
other  things.  He  is  not  satisfied  with  what  he  can  learn 
from  docimients,  but,  if  at  all  possible,  seeks  to  hear  and  see 
for  himself;  not  merely  that  he  may  get  clearer  ideas  of 
things,  but,  as  he  correctly  remarks  on  one  occasion,  be- 
cause they  present  entirely  different  aspects  when  looked 
at  from  below  and  from  above. 

Whenever  an  immediate  personal  interference  seems  to 
him  to  be  needed  at  a  particular  place  he  shuns  neither 
pains  nor  danger.  He  often  rides  to  a  fire  miles  away  and 
takes  personal  charge  of  the  attempt  to  put  it  out.  With 
what  cordial  sympathy  and  what  bravery  one  example  out 
of  many  may  show.  On  the  26th  of  Jime,  1780,  he  reports 
to  Frau  von  Stein :  "  Yesterday  I  was  in  Ettersburg.  .  .  . 
The  cry  of  fire  in  Gross- Brembach  called  me  away  and  I  was 
soon  in  the  flames.  After  such  long  dry  weather,  and  with 
an  unfavourable  wind  the  fury  of  the  fire  was  uncontrollable. 
In  such  a  case  one  feels  how  single-handed  one  is,  and  yet 
how  the  people  have  enough  good  practical  sense  to  make 
some  effort.  The  most  vexatious  people  in  such  circum- 
stances are,  as  always,  those  who  see  only  what  is  not  being 
done,  and  consequently  confuse  those  who  are  doing  the 
most  necessary  things.  I  admonished,  begged,  consoled, 
pacified,  and  then  turned  my  whole  care  to  the  church, 
which  was  still  in  danger  when  I  arrived,  and  where,  beside 
the  building,  a  great  store  of  produce  belonging  to  the  Duke 
would  have  been  lost.  .  .  .  Nobody  would  dip  water 
from  the  pond  because  the  flames  from  the  nearest  houses 
were  driven  out  over  it  in  eddies  by  the  wind.     I  stepped 


^bc  riDinieter  319 

up  and  cried :  *  It  can  be  done,  it  can  be  done,  children,'  and 
immediately  some  of  them  were  there  and  dipped  out 
water,  but  I  soon  had  to  leave  my  place,  because  at  best 
one  could  endure  it  only  a  few  moments.  My  eyebrows  are 
singed  and  the  water  boiling  in  my  shoes  scalded  my  toes; 
after  midnight  I  lay  down  on  the  bed  for  a  little  rest." 

In  the  same  manner  he  lends  personal  aid  in  times  of 
flood.  Hardly  has  he  heard  of  the  perilous  breaking  up  of 
the  ice  in  Jena  on  February  29,  1784,  when  he  hastens 
thither  and  evolves  order  and  precision  out  of  the  general 
anxiety  and  confusion.  "Everybody  is  running  around  in 
confusion,"  he  writes  to  his  beloved;  "the  officers  are  not 
prepared  for  emergencies,  the  sufferers  know  not  what  to 
do,  and  the  others  do  nothing.  ...  I  am  not  alto- 
gether useless  here,  so  I  shall  stay."  He  remained  in  Jena 
five  days.  What  he  accomplished  we  can  only  conjecture 
from  the  words  of  the  Duke,  who  made  great  demands  upon 
manly  energy.  He  had  followed  Goethe  to  Jena,  and  on 
the  6th  of  March  wrote  to  Merck:  " Goethe  conducted  him- 
self very  nobly  during  the  danger  here,  and  made  the  very 
best  arrangements.     Nobody  was  lost  in  the  water  here," 

That  Goethe  on  such  occasions  gladly  lent  energetic 
assistance  is  not  surprising.  Work  in  the  open  air,  the 
sympathy  which  he  felt  as  man  and  poet  in  such  times  of 
disaster,  the  immediate  visible  results,  were  enough  in 
themselves  to  make  him  enjoy  doing  what  he  did.  But  we 
find  him  taking  the  same  delight  in  his  office,  where  even 
the  beams  seemed  to  weigh  him  down,  in  the  midst  of 
documents  and  a  multitude  of  annoyances  great  and  small. 

When  he  took  hold  of  the  War  Commission,  for  example, 
he  found  it  in  a  terrible  state  of  neglect.  The  officials  w^ere 
careless,  the  system  demoralised,  and  the  accotmts  and 
rescripts  in  confusion  and  disorder;  but  he  was  not  dis- 
couraged. "  I  shall  make  it  as  neat  as  if  the  pigeons  had 
picked  it  up."  And  after  two  and  a  half  years  he  not  only 
had  everything  filed  away  in  most  perfect  order,  but  the 
personnel  of  the  department  was  reorganised  and  so  well 
trained   that  ever3rthing  went  on   with   smoothness   and 


320  ^be  Xifc  of  6oetbe 

regularity,  and  he  had,  furthermore,  in  spite  of  all  the  Duke's 
military  dallying,  had  the  army  of  Weimar  reduced  ^^  by 
half,  viz.,  from  600  to  310  men.  He  was  so  pleased  with 
these  results  that  he  noted  in  his  diary  on  August  15,  1781 : 
"War  commission.  Recapitulated  to  myself  what  I  have 
accomplished  in  this  department.  Now  I  should  not  be 
afraid  to  undertake  to  introduce  order  into  a  far  greater, 
indeed  into  several,  and  may  God  grant  me  the  opportunity 
and  the  courage  to  do  so!"  An  admirable  wish  in  a  man 
who,  so  to  speak,  must  also  have  felt  his  calling  as  a  poet, 
and  who  already  had  so  much  to  carry  that  it  often  seemed 
as  though  his  knees  would  give  way  under  him,  so  that  he 
was  obliged  to  urge  himself  on  with  such  words  as:  "Iron 
patience ! "     "  Stony  endurance ! ' ' 

The  opportunity  very  soon  offered  to  undertake  a 
greater  department.  Kalb  had  managed  the  Chamber  of 
Finance  very  badly.  Consequently  the  Duke  dismissed  him 
from  the  office  in  June,  1782,  and,  as  we  have  already  said, 
intrusted  Goethe  with  it.  Both  thought  it  would  only  be 
for  the  interim,  but  it  proved  to  be  for  a  long  period.  Here, 
again,  the  great  amount  of  labour  naturally  involved  in  the 
office  was  further  increased  by  the  confused  state  in  which 
it  was  transferred  to  Goethe.  He  felt,  too,  what  a  heavy- 
burden  he  was  assuming,  and  hence,  as  the  most  con- 
scientious of  the  conscientious,  admonished  himself  that  he 
must  now  be  in  earnest,  in  deep  earnest.  With  the  presi- 
dency of  the  Chamber  he  had  got  into  the  heart  of  the 
administration;  and  among  the  many  hard  tasks  which  it 
brought  him  the  hardest  was  his  struggle  with  the  Duke. 
The  Duke  was  not  a  spendthrift,  but  was  a  generous  prince, 
who  liked  to  give  with  a  full  hand  and  was  fond  of  extending 
hospitality,  but  was  unwilling  carefully  to  adjust  the  ex- 
penses of  hunting  and  travelling  to  the  income  of  the  civil 
list.  As  a  result  he  usually  spent  more  than  his  privy 
purse  received,  and  the  Chamber  had  to  cover  the  deficit.^* 
Goethe  put  a  stop  to  this  mismanagement.  When  he  noticed 
after  six  months  that  Bertuch,  the  Duke's  privy  purse,  had 
already  drawn  more  than  was  due  him  for  this  period,  he 


^bc  minister 


^21 


0 


checked   fiirther  payments   and   gave   Bertuch   clearly   to 
understand  that  he  must  arrange  his  budget  accordingly 
for  the  remainder  of  the  year.     "  For  I  must  have  things  in 
order  on  St.  John's  Day  or  resign."     He  has  his  way,  too; 
and  at  the  end  of  April,  1783,  annoiuices  to  Knebel  with 
satisfaction:   "My  finances  are  going  better  than  I  thought 
a  year  ago.     I  am  meeting  with  good  fortime  and  success  in 
my  administration,  but  am  holding  most  tenaciously  to  my 
plans  and  principles."     In  August,  1785,  he  even  persuaded 
the  Duke,  for  the  sake  of  economy,  to  exclude  his  cavaliers 
from    the    daily    Court    table.     By   this    measure   Goethe 
wounded  himself  in  his  own  most  tender  spot.     It  restored 
the  Master  of  the  Horse  to  his  family,  and  Goethe's  intimate 
associations  with  Frau  von  Stein  were  painfully  disturbed. 
The  savings  which  Goethe  achieved  in  the  national  and 
ducal  budgets  were  to  be  used  for  the  support  of  the  poor, 
whose  misery  weighed  heavy  upon  his  heart,  for  the  extra- 
ordinary needs  of  the  University  of  Jena,  further,  perhaps, 
for  the   commutation   of  feudal  and  ecclesiastical  rights, 
which  were  a  hea\'y  burden  upon  the  small  tenant.      He 
was  planning  great  social  and  political  reforms, ^^  such  as 
had  been  partly  begun  and  partly  carried  out  in  Denmark, 
Portugal,    and    Austria.     Liberating    the    peasants    from 
socage    and   tithes,    transforming   the    possessions    of   the 
peasantry    and    landlords    into    free,    divisible    property, 
levying  the  taxes  according  to  earning  power, — such  were 
approximately   the    chief   aims   which   he    pursued,    aside 
from  the  general  amelioration  of  conditions.     This  meant 
a  stubborn  fight  with  the  privileged  classes,  and  economical 
management  for  years  to  come;    and  whereas  the  young 
Duke  felt  somewhat  in  favour  of  the   one,  he  was  little 
inclined  to  the  other.     Consequently  the  great  plans  never 
passed  the  stage  of  good  purposes,  and  Goethe  had  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  fact  that  at  least  some  good  was,  as  far  as 
possible,  accomplished  in  particular  cases,  that  economy, 
care,  and  humanity  were  introduced  into  the  government, 
that  the  military  burden  was  lightened,  roads  and  canals 
improved,  an  extensive  system  of  irrigation  and  drainage 


VOL.  I. 21. 


322  Zbc  Xlfe  of  (3oetbe 

established,  the  damage  from  game  decreased,  mining  at 
Ilmenau  brought  back  to  life,  and  the  institutions  of  art  and 
science  enlarged  and  more  richly  equipped. 

Although  Goethe  had  to  give  up  his  ultimate  and  most 
promising  purposes  in  domestic  policy,  he  was  able  to  carry 
out  similar  plans  in  international  relations.  Here  he  ex- 
ercised control  in  common  with  the  Duke,  but  without  the 
aid  or  knowledge  of  the  Privy  Council.  Of  course  only 
questions  of  broad  policy  are  here  meant,  for  it  was  neither 
possible  nor  necessary  to  keep  secret  from  other  members 
of  the  Council  the  secondary  matters  which  had  to  be 
settled  with  other  coimtries,  especially  with  the  neighbouring 
Emestinian  principalities.  Goethe  often  acted  as  negoti- 
ator in  these  matters  too,  and  visited  more  than  once  on 
such  missions  the  courts  of  the  Thuringian  princes. 

That  little  Weimar  had  to  face  questions  of  important 
international  policy  in  the  decade  from  1776  to  1786  was 
due  to  the  pecuHar  aspect  of  conditions  in  Germany  at  that 
time  and  to  Goethe's  and  the  Duke's  desire  for  real  activity. 
In  the  early  part  of  1778,  after  the  Wittelsbach  line  in 
Bavaria  had  become  extinct,  Austria,  on  the  basis  of 
hereditary  claims,  had  compelled  the  successor  to  the  throne, 
Karl  Theodor  von  Pfalz-Sulzbach,  to  cede  to  her  the  Upper 
Palatinate  and  Lower  Bavaria.  This  fact  had  created 
tmrest  in  Prussia  and  the  smaller  German  states,  and  Prussia 
began  to  make  preparations  to  compel  Austria,  by  force  of 
arms,  if  necessary,  to  cede  back  the  annexed  Bavarian 
territories.  The  experience  of  the  Seven  Years'  War  had 
taught  Weimar  that  in  case  of  war  between  Austria  and 
Prussia  she,  too,  would  have  to  suffer  painfully.  Hence 
the  duchy  had  reason  to  be  somewhat  alarmed.  But,  with 
all  the  worry,  it  afforded  Goethe  a  certain  agreeable  excite- 
ment to  see  the  Weimar  boat  at  length  drifting  out  upon 
the  high  sea.  "  God  be  thanked,  I  am  in  fine  spirits  and  my 
life  is  free!"  he  exclaimed  with  regard  to  this  possibility, 
in  a  letter  of  the  i8th  of  March.  With  things  in  such  a 
state,  it  must  have  seemed  to  the  Duke  desirable  to  have  an 


^be  flDinietcr 


'»'>'» 
o-j 


early  definite  statement  of  Prussia's  intentions;  how  far 
the  King  was  in  earnest  about  the  war,  what  Berlin  thought 
of  Weimar's  neutrality  or  an  eventual  alliance,  what  de- 
mands would  be  made,  etc.  Accordingly  the  Duke  set 
out  with  Goethe  on  the  loth  of  May,  proceeded  first  to 
Dessau,  where  they  took  counsel  with  the  Prince,  and 
thence  to  Berlin.  Goethe  here  saw  for  the  first  time  a 
really  great  city,  a  city  numbering  100,000  more  inhabitants 
than  the  greatest  he  had  hitherto  seen.  He  was  amazed. 
Small  and  quiet  as  it  seems  to  us  in  the  descriptions  and 
pictures  of  the  time,  he  found  in  it  life,  wealth,  and  splen- 
dour. The  impression  was  deepened  by  the  preparations 
for  war;  "Men,  horses,  carriages,  cannon,  equipments, 
swarms  of  them  all."  He  visited  the  porcelain  factory,  the 
opera  house,  the  Catholic  Hedwigskirche,  the  arsenal, 
the  Tiergarten.  He  dined  with  Prince  Heinrich  in  the 
company  of  dozens  of  generals.  He  did  not  see  the  King, 
who  was  in  Silesia ;  but  he  felt  very  close  to  him,  when  he 
saw  the  character  of  his  surroundings:  his  gold,  silver, 
marble,  monkeys,  parrots,  and  torn  curtains.  He  also 
heard  the  great  King  discussed  by  his  own  scoundrels. 
He  saw,  further,  on  a  great  scale,  the  phenomena  of  un- 
chained egotism:  bartering,  deception,  intrigue,  hypocrisy, 
cringing,  haughtiness,  pettiness,  jealousy,  all  the  disgust- 
ing bubbles  that  a  crisis  was  apt  to  bring  to  the  surface 
of  the  old-time  European  diplomacy,  and  the  commanding 
power  and  despotism  of  an  autocrat.  "This  much  I  can 
say,  the  greater  the  world,  the  nastier  the  farce,  and  I 
swear,  no  obscenity  or  asininity  of  buffoonery  is  as  dis- 
gusting as  the  actions  of  the  great,  the  middle  rank,  and 
the  small  mingled  together.  I  have  implored  the  gods  to 
preserve  my  spirit  and  straightforwardness  to  the  end" 
(to  Frau  von  Stein,  May  19th).  After  a  sojourn  of  five 
days  he  returns  from  the  corruption  of  the  Prussian  capital 
to  his  innocent  Weimar.  The  results  of  the  negotiations 
and  inquiries  in  Berlin  are  not  known.  However,  Weimar 
observes  neutrality  when  the  war  breaks  out. 

It  was  to  be  foreseen  that  Weimar,  either  directly  or 


324  Zl)C  Xlfe  of  (Boctbe 

indirectly,  would  suffer  from  the  consequences  of  the  war. 
This  foreseen  danger  was  doubtless  Karl  August's  deter- 
mining motive  for  putting  Goethe  at  the  head  of  the  War 
Department  at  the  beginning  of  the  new  year.     And  their 
fears  were  well  foimded.     In  the  winter  the  Prussian  King 
requested  permission  to  enHst  soldiers  in  Weimar.     Even 
before    negotiations    were    completed,    Prussian    Hussars 
came  to  begin  the  recruiting.     The  situation  was  extremely 
precarious.     Goethe  prepared  a  memorial,   containing  an 
exhaustive  discussion  of  the  consequences  of  the  Prussian 
demand,  in  which  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that,  no  matter 
what  position  they  took  with  respect  to  it,  perilous  results 
would  grow  out  of  it.     Recruitments  are  in  themselves  a 
great  evil,  he  said;    "Whatever  concessions  are  made  to 
Prussia  will  have  to  be  made  to  Austria  also,  and  thus  the 
evil  will  be  doubled.     A  refusal  may  provoke  Prussia  to 
violence.     In  short,  the  small  state  in  its  weakness  is  in  a 
sorry  plight  in  the  presence  of  the  great  powers,  and  from 
an  appeal  to  the  German  Imperial  Diet  one  may  expect 
nothing   but    'empty    sympathy.'"     He    also    raised    the 
question,  whether  it  might  not  be  well  to  form  an  alliance 
with  the  other  states  that  were  threatened  with  similar 
measures,  and  in  union  find  strength  for  resistance.     Such 
a  step  would  at  all  events  make  a  good  impression.     For 
other  happy  circumstances  might  also  conspire  to  draw 
the  princes  out  of  their  isolation  and  inactivity  and  unite 
them  in  a  permanent  common  federation.     With  this  step 
Goethe  set  out  resolutely  to  gain  the  point  upon  which  he 
had  long  had  his  eyes  fixed,  the  point  from  which  he  could 
transform  the  "miserable  constitution"  of  the  Empire  into 
an   organism   capable    of    living,    and    giving   promise   of 
prosperity  to  all  and  protection  for  the  small  against  the 
great. 

The  danger  of  enlistments  vanished  with  the  early  end 
of  the  war,  but  Goethe  and  Karl  August  pursued  still 
further  the  thought  of  uniting  ^o  the  small  and  secondary 
states  of  Germany.  But  it  seems  that  for  several  years 
they  were  unable  to  carry  the  friendly  princes  beyond  the 


^be  flDlniBter  325 

point  of  academic  discussion,  and  when  the  movement, 
under  the  leadership  of  Baden,  was  finally  set  on  foot, 
Frederick  the  Great,  quite  contrary  to  the  original  inten- 
tion, got  control  of  it,  and  he  wished  to  give  the  federation 
of  princes  a  firmer  military  basis.  Goethe  was  little  in 
sympathy  with  this  turn  of  affairs;  for  he  feared  not  so 
much  Prussia  as  the  Prussian  King,  whose  want  of  con- 
sideration Weimar  had  more  than  once  been  made  to 
feel. 

In  the  summer  of  1780  he  spoke  in  the  Vogel  of  the  Black 
Eagle  with  his  ever-ready  claws.  Even  if  the  King  should 
perhaps  not  formally  swallow  up  the  small  states,  still  there 
was  groimd  for  fearing  that  he,  by  virtue  of  the  federation, 
would  lay  upon  them  heavy  burdens  which  would  necessarily 
ruin  Goethe's  policy  of  economy  and  reform,  and  that  he 
would  treat  them  not  as  peers  but  as  vassals.  Meanwhile 
Austria  was  pursuing  such  a  greedy  policy  that  no  choice 
was  left  for  the  small  states.  In  1780  she  had  brought  the 
Archbishopric  of  Cologne  and  the  Bishopric  of  Munster 
under  her  influence;  from  that  year  on  she  had  shrewdly 
lamed  ^1  the  Imperial  Diet;  finally,  in  1785,  she  had  at- 
tempted to  gain  control  of  the  whole  of  Bavaria  by  means 
of  a  barter  with  Burgundy.  This  made  it  seem  clear  that 
"  German  liberty"  was  threatened  with  the  greatest  danger, 
not  from  Prussia  but  from  Austria,  and  that  protection 
must  be  sought  under  the  wings  of  the  Black  Eagle,  even 
if  his  claws  should  be  uncannily  displayed.  In  view  of 
this  situation,  Goethe  could  no  longer  oppose  ^2  entrance 
into  Frederick's  federation;  but  he  did  insist  that  Karl 
August  sign  only  the  chief  treaty  with  Prussia,  which 
aimed  at  tmited  action  in  the  Imperial  Diet,  but  not  the 
secret  military  articles.  Only  later,  when  the  days  of 
Frederick  the  Great  seemed  to  be  numbered,  and  his 
peace-loving  nephew  and  successor  could  be  reckoned  with, 
did  the  Duke  agree  to  the  military  alliance,  with  the  saving 
clause,  "according  to  circumstances."  Karl  August  based 
great  hopes  on  the  federation,  if  it  should  be  conducted 
loyally   and  peaceably.     He   considered  it   the   means   of 


326  XLbc  Xlfe  of  (5oetbe 

regenerating  the  whole  fatherland  and  instilling  new  life 
into  its  almost  extinct  public  spirit  and  greatly  diminished 
power.  His  sanguine  expectations  were  not  realised. 
Goethe  proved  to  be  right  in  his  less  hopeful  opinion  of 
the  federation  of  German  princes  imder  the  hegemony  of 
Prussia.  But  whether  a  federation  according  to  his  plan 
would  have  accomplished  more,  or  lasted  longer,  is  doubt- 
ful. At  any  rate  Goethe  deserves  the  credit  that  he,  the 
poet,  was  the  only  ^^  man  at  the  time  who  seized  an  aus- 
picious moment  with  quick  energy  and  attempted  to  cure 
the  sickly  German  Empire. 

As  Weimar,  until  1785,  was  the  soul  of  the  movement 
toward  federation,  and  as  there  were  during  this  time 
negotiations  with  a  large  number  of  the  estates  of  the 
Empire,  Goethe  found  even  the  foreign  relations  a  not 
inconsiderable  burden.  For  the  sake  of  secrecy  he  even 
deprived  himself  of  the  luxury  of  a  secretary,  and  hence 
all  the  documents  referring  to  the  federation  are  in  Goethe's 
or  the  Duke's  handwriting. 

If  we  glance  back  over  the  whole  wide  field  of  Goethe's 
official  activity  we  can  understand  why  Herder,  in  1782, 
called  him  "the  Weimar  factotum,"  and  Knebel,  in  1784, 
"the  backbone  of  things." 


XXIII 


EGMONT 


Connection  between  Gotz  and  Egtnont — Demonic  element  in  latter — 
Origin  and  composition — Defects  in  plot — Demonic  heedlessness 
the  sole  motive — Egmont's  character  and  his  r6Ie  in  the  drama — 
Other  characters — Charm  of  the  play  in  spite  of  its  defects. 

"  T      OCK  your  hearts  more  carefully  than  your  doors. 
I  The  age  of  deception  is  coming,  and  it  has  been 

•■"— '  given  free  rein.  The  vile  shall  rule  with  cunning, 
and  the  noble  shall  fall  into  their  nets."  In  these  dying 
words  of  Gotz  was  given  out  the  program  for  EgmontJ^ 
In  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit  Goethe  has  therefore  connected 
Egtnont  with  Gotz,  and  has  placed  it  immediately  after 
Gotz  in  his  collected  works. 

Indeed  Egmont  and  Gotz  are  twin  brothers.  Both  are 
noble  men  who  perish  in  the  struggle  with  evil  governmental 
powers.  "  Freedom"  is  the  last  word  of  each  in  his  prison. 
While  Gotz  strives  to  gain  freedom  and  to  better  existing 
conditions  by  interference  on  his  own  authority,  Egmont 
is  satisfied  with  the  freedom  to  live  on  as  usual  within 
chartered  rights,  or,  in  other  words,  he  fights  only  against 
the  degeneration  of  conditions.  Egmont,  therefore,  is 
much  more  conservative  than  Gotz,  just  as  Goethe  himself 
had  meanwhile  become  much  more  conservative.  The 
variations  on  the  theme  of  liberty,  such  as  Egmont  offers, 
could  hardly  have  stimulated  the  poet  to  elaborate  them 
into  an  independent  drama.  But  another  strong  motive 
was  added,  which  Goethe  calls  the  demonic.  He  attempted 
at  different  times  to  explain  what  he  meant  by  the  demonic, 

327 


328 


tTbe  Xife  of  (Boetbe 


■> 


M' 


but  owing  to  the  indefiniteness  of  this  neither  divine  nor 
diabolical  factor,  which  cannot  be  grasped  by  the  reason 
and  understanding,  and  which  seemed  to  him  to  pervade 
even  inanimate  things,  it  was  impossible  for  him,  with  all 
his  explanations,  to  express  himself  in  a  clear  and  compre- 
hensible manner.     This  much  is  certain,  however,  that  he 
>  considered  it,  in  the  case  of  man,  a  mysterious  power,  which 
fills  man   with  unlimited   confidence    in   himself,   and   in~ 
this  way  makes  him  capable  of  great  and  successful  under- 
takings, as  it  may  also  lead  him  to  misfortune  or  to  ruin. 
Of  his  own  relation  to  the  demonic  he  says  that  it  was  not 
a  part  of  his  nature,  but  that  he  had  been  under  its  sway. 
This  simply  means  that  at  certain  epochs  he  was  controlled 
by  it,   but   that   his   nature   was   constituted   fortunately 
enough  to  protect  him  against  its  destructive  tendency. 
The  fortunate  gift  of  nature  that  protected  him  was  poetry. 
Now  just  at  the  time  when  Egmont  was  coming  into 
being  the  demonic  power  had  seized  him  again,  and  he  had 
recourse  to  his  approved  remedy.     As  he  expresses  it,  he 
sought  "to  save  himself  from  the  dread  power  by  taking 
refuge  behind  a  picture."     This  picture  he  found  in  the 
unfortunate   hero   of   the   Dutch   struggle   for   liberty,    in 
noble,  brave,  kind,  care-free  Egmont.     In  order  to  make 
the  historical  Egmont  as  true  a  reflection  of  himself  as- 
possible,  he  transformed  the  mature  father  of  a  family  into 
an  unmarried  youth  and  intensified    his  somnambulistic 
habit  of  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  life  for  the  moment, 
totally  oblivious  of  the  lurking  dangers,  to  which  he  event- 
ually falls  a  victim. 

In  what  did  the  demonic  consist,  which  frightened  the 
poet  at  that  time?  We  need  only  mention  the  year  in 
which  Egmont  originated  in  order  to  have  the  answer.  It 
was  the  year  1775.  Goethe,  driven  by  a  demonic  power, 
and  contrary  to  his  most  settled  purpose,  had  become 
entangled  in  a  new  passionate  love  affair,  that  with  Lili, 
and  was  more  deeply  involved  than  ever  before.  He  soon^ 
foresaw  the  misfortune  which  must  arise  if  he  continued 
his  somnambulistic  walk  along  this  dangerous  way.     The 


£omont  329 

vain  flight  to  Switzerland  had  made  the  demonic  power 
inherent  in  that  passion  seem  doubly  uncanny  to  him,  and 
he  sought  to  save  himself  by  means  of  poetry,  by  writing 
Egmont.  Allowing  his  poetic  double  to  keep  on  the  way 
to  the  end,  to  the  abyss  which  swallows  him  up  and  with 
him  his  sweetheart,  he  was  terrified  at  the  picture  and 
experienced  a  tragic  catharsis  in  his  own  soul. 

Knowing  well  the  liberating  and  purifying  power  of 
poetry,  Goethe  worked  during  the  final  months  of  his 
betrothal  to  Lili,  from  August  to  October,  with  extra- 
ordinary zeal.  Skipping  over  from  the  exposition  to  the 
chief  scenes,  he  had  proceeded  so  far  with  the  composition 
that  when  he  went  to  Weimar  there  probably  remained 
only  a  few  gaps  of  inconsiderable  length  and  importance. 
By  moving  away  from  Lili's  demonic  presence  he  lost  his 
interest  in  the  drama.  A  new  life  made  new  subjects  more 
pressing,  above  all  Iphigenie,  and  only  after  this  was 
finished  in  its  first  redaction  did  he  take  up  Egmont  again. 
But,  having  become  inwardly  estranged  from  the  play, 
being  now  governed  by  stricter  artistic  standards,  and 
having  little  leisure  at  his  disposal,  he  worked  at  it,  patch- 
ing and  improving,  for  three  years,  and  finished  it  at  the 
end  of  April,  1782;  but  so  unsatisfactorily  that  in  1786 
he  again  pronounced  it  unfinished  and  felt  he  must  take  it 
with  him  to  Italy  for  further  revision.  In  the  summer  of 
1787  in  Rome,  in  the  midst  of  landscape  drawing,  modelHng 
of  antique  heads,  and  the  study  of  Michael  Angelo,  he 
revised  the  play,  but  in  such  a  way  that  we  are  unable  to  . 

detect  any  Italian  influence  in  it.     On  the  contrary,  it  >/ 

betrays  throughout  the  style  of  the  last  years  in  Frankfort. --""^  '  ^ 
and  the  first  in  Weimar.  His  criticism  of  the  finished 
play  is,  that  it  was  left  rather  as  it  could  be  than  as  it  should 
be.  "It  was  a  hard  undertaking.  I  never  should  have 
believed  I  should  finish  it."  Naturally  enough.  As  Goethe 
had  originally  planned  it,  it  was  hard  for  one  with  a  mature 
understanding  of  art  to  finish.  Not  yet  entirely  rid  of 
the  esthetic  theories  of  the  Storm-and-Stress  period,  and 
yielding  to  his  own  personal  impulses,  he  had  intended  to 


7/ 


33° 


Zbe  Xlfc  of  (Boctbc 


A 


r 


give  in  Egniont  nothing  but  a  character  sketch  of  a  great 
man  in  dramatic  form,  so  that  in  this  respect  also  it  became 
a  companion  piece  to  Gotz.  While  Egmont  is  superior  to 
Gotz  in  concentration,  Gotz  surpasses  Egmont  in  dramatic 
interest.  In  Gotz  we  have  no  centralised  plot,  but  always 
some  action  which  arouses  interest;  Egmont,  on  the  other 
hand,  has  a  centralised  plot,  but  it  is  insignificant,  and  the 
interest  which  is  aroused  for  the  time  being  is  due  less  to 
the  plot  than  to  the  characters  themselves. 

The  plot  may  be  told  in  very  few  words.  Egmont, 
disregarding  all  warnings,  remains  in  Brussels,  is  captured 
by  Alba,  and  led  to  the  scaffold.  It  begins  at  the  end  of 
the  second  act,  is  obscured  in  the  third,  and  closes  in  the 
fourth. 

'   Goethe    almost    wantonly    neglected   every   means   of 
rendering  the  plot  complicated. 

In  the  second  scene  of  the  first  act  he  makes  Margaret 
of  Parma  assemble  the  council  of  state  in  order  to  call 
Egmont  and  Orange  to  account  for  the  existing  unrest. 
"  I  shall  roll  the  burden  of  responsibility  close  enough  to 
them;  they  shall  join  me  in  all  earnestness  in  opposing 
the  evil,  or  declare  that  they  too  are  rebels."  Other 
writers,  such  as  Shakespeare  or  Schiller,  would  have  made 
much  of  this  motive:  a  great  meeting  of  the  council,  a 
lively  give  and  take,  the  hero  becoming  entangled  by  his 
too  great  frankness,  etc.  But  Goethe  suggested  it  only 
to  drop  it.  Margaret  of  Parma  is  secretly  in  love  with 
Egmont.  This  is  a  very  happy  invention.  But  instead 
of  developing  something  out  of  this  motive  for  the  progress 
of  the  play,  a  secret  warning  against  Alba,  say,  or  secret 
support  against  him,  it,  too,  is  left  unemployed.  For  the 
poet  it  is  enough  if  it  contributes  to  his  glorification  of  the 
picture  of  Egmont.  As  there  are  plenty  of  other  means 
for  the  accomplishment  of  this  end,  Schiller  was  able  to 
eliminate  the  figure  of  the  regent  altogether  in  his  adapta- 
tion of  Egmont  to  the  stage,  which  is  still  followed  in 
many  theatres. 

Goethe    brings    the    common    people    before    us    three 


Cgmont  33^ 

times.  The  first  time  they  properly  serve  to  unfold  the 
background  of  the  plot.  The  second  time  we  see  them 
wrought  up  by  a  clever  agitator,  the  third  time  they  are 
fired  by  Klarchen's  persuasive  eloquence  to  rescue  Egmont. 
In  the  last  two  cases  we  expect  some  turn  in  the  progress 
of  the  action,  but  each  time  we  are  disappointed.  The 
common_jpeople  remain  passive  from  beginning  to  end. 
"Apart  from  the  exposition  their  only  purpose  is  to  cast  high 
lights  on  Egmont  and  Klarchen.  One  can  only  regret  that 
Goethe  does  not  at  least  have  the  people  stirred  from  their 
inactivity  by  Klarchen  in  the  fifth  act.  How  our  interest 
would  be  intensified  again,  and  how  much  greater  Klarchen's 
death  would  be  in  battle,  at  the  head  of  a  band  of  people, 
than  by  poison  in  a  quiet  attic  room!  But  as  in  this  case 
Klarchen  has  no  influence  on  the  development  of  events, 
so  everywhere  else.  She  is,  for  example,  of  no  weight 
in  Egmont 's  determination  to  remain  in  Brussels.  The 
poet  purposely  avoided  such  a  complication  in  order  that 
he  might  make  demonic  heedlessness  the  sole  motive  of 
Egmont's  ruin.  Consequently  he  put  no  passion  into  the 
relation  on  Egmont's  side.  We  are  all  the  more  surprised, 
then,  when  his  sweetheart  engrosses  his  whole  soul  in  the 
prison  and  appears  to  him  in  the  glory  of  a  goddess  of 
liberty. 

The  poet  again  had  it  in  his  power  to  give  the  dull 
fifth  act  a  livelier  pulse  when  he  brought  Ferdinand,  Alba's 
son,  to  Egmont  in  the  prison.  After  the  homage  which 
Ferdinand  offers  to  Egmont,  we  expect  him,  as  Egmont 
does,  to  interfere  for  the  liberation  of  the  hero.  But 
nothing  of  the  kind  happens.  Ferdinand's  only  function 
is  to  wreathe  a  leaf  into  Egmont's  crown  of  glory.  And 
yet  his  active  intervention  would  not  only  have  aroused 
our  flagging  interest  to  the  highest  pitch,  but  his  death, — 
for  the  failure  of  the  attempt  to  liberate  Egmont  was  a 
poetical  necessity — would  have  been  a  splendid  tragical 
atonement  for  the  violence  of  his  father. 

That  Orange  should  exert  no  influence  on  the  course  of 
events  was  doubtless  necessary.     But,  even  if  this  important 


(  / 


332  Zbc  %\tc  Of  (Boetbe 

figiire  were  condemned  to  be  a  foil  for  Egmont,  Goethe 
should  have  been  the  more  careful  not  to  detach  the  others 
from  the  mechanism  of  the  plot.  It  was  the  fate  of  the 
play  that  Goethe's  thoughts  were  fixed  upon  anything  but 
a  stirring  action  rising  artistically  to  a  climax.  It  was  his 
only  care  to  show  the  hero  in  the  most  varied  and  brilliant 
lights,  and  then,  when  we  have  grown  fond  of  him,  let  him 
be  suddenly  destroyed  as  one  bHnded  by  the  demon. 

He  sought  to  attain  this  end  in  the  simplest  way,  no 
matter  whether  this  way  were  smted  to  the  drama  or  not, 
A  detailed  discussion  is  demanded  only  for  the  manner  in 
which  Egmont's  character  is  portrayed.  Goethe  depicts 
him  with  such  warm  devotion  and  such  perfect  art  that 
in  the  first  acts  our  whole  interest  is  centred  in  the  person 
of  the  hero.  In  the  first  act  he  lets  us  see  Egmont  through 
the  eyes  of  the  people ;  in  the  second,  through  the  eyes  of 
the  Government;  in  the  third,  through  the  eyes  of  love. 
We  see  a  brilliant,  chivalrous  figiu-e,  a  renowned  general, 
stadtholder  and  prince,  who  prides  himself  on  being  a  man. 
He  walks  as  if  the  world  belonged  to  him,  and  yet  is  friendly, 
benevolent,  and  amiable  toward  everybody.  In  spite  of  his 
serious  burdens  at  home  and  in  the  field  he  has  never  been 
seen  other  than  cheerful  and  open.  His  heedlessness  rises 
to  light-heartedness,  but  this  light-heartedness  appears  as 
an  amiable  ornament,  because  it  flows  from  his  conscious- 
ness of  power  and  innocence,  as  well  as  from  his  optimistic 
philosophy  of  life  and  the  world.  Everybody  loves  him, 
takes  him  as  a  model,  in  fact;  young  and  old,  men  and 
women,  soldiers  and  citizens.  The  fact  that  we  catch  no 
glimpse  of  "great"  Egmont  himself  only  keys  our  suspense 
higher  and  higher.  The  second  act  begins,  but  still  we 
must  wait.  An  effective  background  must  first  be  pre- 
pared for  Egmont's  appearance.  A  mob  quarrelling  over 
the  political  affairs  of  the  cotmtry  becomes  embroiled  in  a 
fierce  fight.  Egmont  appears  and  the  stormy  waves  sub- 
side in  a  few  moments.  He  separates  the  quarrellers  with 
kingly  dignity  and  passes  on. 

The  impressive  little  glimpse  of  Egmont  increases  our 


) 


leomont  333 

desire  to  see  him  in  a  rich  unfolding  of  his  nature.  The  poet 
gratifies  us  in  the  next  scene.  He  makes  him  dispose  of  the 
official  letters  that  have  arrived,  covering  a  wide  range  of 
things.  He  answers  all  briefly  and  clearly,  yet  in  a  manner 
full  of  kindness,  mercy,  and  humanity.  A  warning  from 
Coimt  Oliva  against  the  attacks  of  the  Spaniards  he  rejects 
with  the  high-mindedness  of  a  joyous,  brave,  pure  soul. — 
Count  Oliva  had  sought  to  put  him  on  his  guard  by  means 
of  general  apprehensions.  But  how  will  Egmont  act  when 
he  hears  facts?  These  are  brought  by  Orange  in  the  next 
scene,  the  crown  of  the  whole  play.  With  palpitating  heart 
we  follow  the  conversation  of  these  two  great  men.  Orange 
informs  Egmont  that  Alba,  whose  murderous  mind  he  well 
knows,  is  on  the  way  with  an  army,  explains  to  him  that 
this  brings  the  greatest  danger  for  both  of  them,  tells  him 
that  he  himself  intends  to  escape  these  dangers  by  going 
away  from  Brussels,  begs  him  warmly  and  urgently,  and 
finally  implores  him  with  tears,  to  follow.  Orange's 
words  are  not  without  effect  upon  Egmont.  The  objections 
which  the  latter  raises  are  not  valid;  nevertheless,  in  his 
demonic  bhndness  he  remains  standing  upon  the  soil  that 
crumbles  away  beneath  his  feet,  and  refuses  to  act.  Eg- 
mont's  inactivity  here  at  the  decisive  turning-point  of  the 
plot  shows  most  strikingly  how  undramatic  was  the  whole 
motive  upon  which  Goethe  based  the  play. 

From  now  on  our  interest  must  of  necessity  wane.  We 
see  the  shadow  of  death  hovering  about  Egmont  and 
can  only  follow  him  with  melancholy  sympathy  to  his 
doom. 

The  undramatic  motive  also  hindered  the  action  of  his 
enemies.  History  furnished  the  poet  with  the  fact  that 
Alba  was  at  first  very  cordial  toward  Egmont  and  the  other 
nobles,  and  dealt  his  blows  against  them  only  after  he  had 
made  sure  of  them.  An  embodiment  of  this  turn  in  the 
fourth  act  would  have  greatly  increased  the  interest,  but 
it  would  have  made  Egmont's  heedlessness  appear  less 
demonic.  Goethe  accordingly  made  no  use  of  it,  making 
Alba  disclose  his  fearful  face  at  once  through  his  Draconic 


334  ^bc  Xifc  of  (Boetbe 

orders.  Consequently  we  know  from  the  first  how  the 
meeting  of  Alba  and  Egmont  will  turn  out,  and  are  only- 
surprised  that  Alba  wastes  so  many  words. 

The  drama  might  end  with  Egmont's  arrest  at  the  end 
of  the  fourth  act;  for  the  fifth  act  contains  only  the  after 
convulsions  which,  in  themselves  unessential,  could  easily 
be  supplied  by  our  fancy.  Klarchen's  suicide  has  already 
been  suggested  in  the  third  act  in  her  words :  "So  let  me 
die,  the  world  has  no  joys  after  this!" 

The  faults  of  the  play  are  many  and  not  insignificant; 
and  yet,  even  if  one  feels  them  all,  it  still  possesses  great 
.  charm.  This  rests  mainly  upon  the  characteristic  beauty 
and  vividness  of  the  figures.  And  here  again  we  see  it 
demonstrated  that  poetry,  as  well  as  the  plastic  arts,  can 
^  after  all  accomplish  nothing  greater  than  the  creation  of 
well-rounded  real  men,  and  that  all  that  we  call  technique 
is  of  secondary  importance. 

The  characters  of  Egmont  are  not  faultless.  As  Schiller 
pointed  out,  for  example,  it  is  a  weakness  in  the  hero  to 
say:  "To  bathe  away  the  thoughtful  wrinkles  from  my 
brow  there  is  still  left  a  friendly  remedy";  and  Klarchen, 
who  had  struck  charming  natural  tones  in  the  first  and 
third  acts,  speaks  in  the  last  act  in  as  elevated  a  style  as  if 
she  were  an  Iphigenia,  or  a  Leonora  d'Este.  Exaltation 
does  not  justify  the  change  in  style.  It  may  alter  the 
accent,  but  not  the  tone  of  language.  Goethe  felt  this 
very  clearly  when  he  wrote  the  prison  scene  of  Faust,  and 
governed  his  style  accordingly.  Nevertheless,  Egmont  and 
Klarchen  are  among  the  most  beautiful  and  true  characters 
that  our  poet  ever  created. 

We  have  already  become  closely  acquainted  with  the 
figure  of  Egmont.  Klarchen  is  his  feminine  coimterpart,  a 
x/  happy  young  girl  who  gladly  surrenders  herself  to  the  joy 
of  a  beautiful  moment  and  wards  off  all  care  for  the  future. 
Yet  she  is  not  superficial  nor  pleasure-seeking;  her  aims 
•  are  serious,  and  her  emotions  deep  and  tender.  Poverty, 
domestic  limitations,  sewing  and  cooking,  have  not  wearied 
or  crushed  her ;  she  is  still  the  same  romp  as  when  she  was  a 


lEgmont  335 

child,  and  nothing  would  please  her  more  than  to  be  a  man 
and  try  her  strength  out  in  the  world.  And  so  in  the 
moment  of  need  she  is  braver  and  more  determined  than 
the  men  of  Brussels  who  gather  around  her.  Like  Egmont, 
she  is  wholly  natural.  She  cannot  be  moved  first  this  way 
and  then  that  by  arguments;  she  must  follow  her  own 
instincts.  Her  natural  impulses  drive  her  into  the  arms 
of  Egmont,  no  less  than  into  the  arms  of  Death.  While 
Egmont  is  above  her  because  of  the  splendour  of  his  high 
position  and  great  influence,  she  radiates  the  pleasing 
shimmer  of  cordial  freshness  and  charming  naivete.  With 
these  qualities  she  has  made  a  warmer  place  for  herself  in 
the  heart  of  the  world  than  has  her  great  lover. 

By  the  side  of  Klarchen  belongs  her  aged  mother, 
drawn  wholly  from  life,  with  her  love  and  indulgence  for 
Klarchen,  her  vanity,  flattered  by  the  fact  that  Egmont  is 
her  daughter's  lover,  her  honour,  which  cannot  but  be 
offended  by  the  relation,  and  her  practical  sense,  which 
would  prefer  ten  times  over  to  see  Klarchen  find  a  com- 
fortable home  as  the  wife  of  Brackenburg.  Then  Bracken- 
burg,  the  soft,  flaccid  youth,  who  eats  of  the  mercies  of  love, 
but  can  neither  live  nor  die — perhaps  the  most  difficult 
character,  and  yet  very  probable,  thanks  to  the  poet's  art. 
And  further  his  Spanish  pendant,  Ferdinand,  who  vacil- 
lates between  his  dreaded  father  and  his  admired  enemy; 
the  lapidary  personality  of  Orange,  a  statue,  not  a  picture; 
the  half  Spanish,  half  Dutch,  half  masculine,  half  feminine, 
clever  and  yet  mediocre  regent,  Margaret ;  and,  closing  the 
procession,  the  representatives  of  the  Dutch  common  people, 
who  with  their  distinct  peculiarities  are  sketched  with  true 
Dutch  art.  Least  successful  of  all  is  the  delineation  of  Alba. 
One  can  readily  see  that  this  character  sprang  from  the 
fourth  act,  which  Goethe  hated.  The  "hollow-eyed," 
"monosyllabic,"  "iron"  Toledan  ought  to  have  had  the 
pithy  style  of  Orange;  but  Goethe  made  him  loquacious 
and  rhetorical.  It  may  be  that  he  was  led  into  doing  this 
by  the  need  of  broadening  out  and  giving  a  special  lustre  to 
the  fourth  act,  which,  according  to  his  plan,  was  to  form  the 


-» 


6  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 


climax,  and  by  the  iambic  rhythm  which  he  often  attempted 
here  as  in  the  fifth  act. 

With  these  characters  Goethe  constructed  a  series  of 
most  exqmsite  scenes,  especially  the  first  two  Klarchen 
scenes,  the  scenes  among  the  people,  and  that  between 
Egmont  and  Orange.  These  leave  such  a  profound  im- 
pression that  they  make  us  forget  all  adverse  criticisms 
of  the  play. 


XXIV 

JOURNEY   TO   THE    HARZ   AND   TO    SWITZERLAND 

Goethe's  need  of  recreation — Reason  for  travelling  in  winter — Route  to 
the  Harz  Mountains — Visit  to  Plessing — Ascent  of  the  Brocken — 
Its  efiFect  on  him — Return  to  Weimar — Loneliness  in  the  midst  of 
gay  life — Letter  to  his  mother  announcing  visit  in  company  with 
Karl  August  and  Wedel — Oflf  for  Switzerland — The  party  in 
Goethe's  home  in  Frankfort — Mother's  account — Goethe  visits 
Friederike  in  Sesenheim  and  Lili  in  Strasburg — Emmendingen — 
Tovir  of  Switzerland:  Munstertal,  Bernese  Oberland,  Lauterbrun- 
nen,  Tschingel  Glacier,  Grindelwald,  Interlaken,  Lake  Geneva, 
Jura  Mountains,  Chamouni,  Montanvert  and  view  of  Mont  Blanc, 
over  the  Furca,  ascent  of  St.  Gothard,  Zurich — Lavater — Jery 
und  Bdtely — Schiller  at  the  Hohe  Karlsschule — Court  visits  on 
return  journey — Again  in  Frankfort — Back  to  Weimar. 

IN  the  same  letter  in  which  Knebel  calls  Goethe  the  back- 
bone of  things  he  also  speaks  of  him  as  tied  fast  to  his 
work.  And  this  was  only  too  true.  He  could  boast 
that  he  had  never  missed  a  meeting  of  the  Council  except  in 
case  of  extreme  necessity.     Futhermore  he  seldom  took  f~^i*^ 

a  leave  of  absence  from  his  office.  If  he  went  away  on 
a  journey  it  was  usually  on  official  business.  Only  a  few 
journeys  were  devoted  to  recreation.  In  the  nine  years 
from  his  entrance  into  office  to  the  summer  of  1785  we  find 
only  three  such.  Two  were  to  the  Harz  Mountains  and  one 
to  Switzerland.  The  first  to  the  Harz  Mountains  and  the 
one  to  Switzerland  left  too  important  marks  on  his  develop- 
ment to  be  passed  over  hastily. 

Both  journeys  were  made  in  winter.  He  hoped  the 
garb  of  winter  would  enhance  the  quiet,  lonely  grandeur 
of  the  regions  to  which  he  repaired,  so  that  he  might  the 
more  surely  find  what  he  sought  in  vain  in  the  confused 
throngs   of  Court  and  business  life,  viz.,  composure  and 

VOL.   I  22. 

337 


338  Zbc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

elevation  of  soul  as  a  result  of  becoming  one  with  the 
divine  spirit  permeating  himself  and  nature. 

He  entered  upon  the  journey  to  the  Harz  Mountains  at 
the  end  of  November,  1777.  As  the  Duke  rode  out  to  the 
chase  with  his  cavaliers,  Goethe  rode  to  the  north  over  the 
Ettersberg.  In  the  midst  of  a  hail-storm  pure  peace  of 
soul  came  over  him,  which  was  transformed  into  pious 
exaltation  as  the  continuation  of  the  journey  brought  him 
into  grander  scenery.  He  went  via  Sondershausen,  Nord- 
hausen,  and  Ilfeld  to  Elbingerode,  where  he  devoted  a  day 
and  a  half  to  the  remarkable  stalagmites  in  the  Baumanns- 
hohle,  in  order  that  he  might  accurately  observe  Nature 
at  her  never-ending  work.  He  continued  the  journey  to 
Wemigerode,  where  he  visited  a  self -torturing,  unhappy 
young  theologian,  the  son  of  Superintendent  Plessing. 
The  young  man  had  previously  written  him  two  tirgent 
letters  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  from  the  author  of  Werther 
consolation  and  saving  wisdom.  Goethe  had  not  answered, 
preferring  to  wait  till  he  could  personally  influence  the 
life- weary  youth,  who,  unsatisfied  with  his  achievements, 
drank  misanthropy  out  of  the  fulness  of  love.  His  efforts 
were  in  vain,  Plessing  would  not  respond  to  any  argu- 
ments or  advice.  Goethe  departed  from  him  in  deep 
emotion. 

3ft  auf  bcincm  ^falter, 
"Batcr  bcr  i^icbc,  cin  Ion 
3eincm  Olire  ticrnc[)nilid), 
5o  crquicfc  fcin  y>c^\ 
{^ffne  ben  nmrnolften  )8\\d 
fiber  bic  tnnfenb  Cncllen, 
'')ltbm  bem  Turftenben 
3n  ber  SSiiftc.* 

*  If  upon  thy  psaltery, 
Father  of  Love,  there  be  tone 
That  to  his  ear  findeth  entrance, 
Oh,  refresh  thou  his  heart. 
Open  the  beclouded  eyes 
Unto  the  thousand  fountains 
Close  by  the  thirsting  one 
In  the  desert. 


lln  tbe  Ibars  ant)  Svoitscrlanb  339 

On  his  further  journey  the  poet  visited  Goslar,  Rammels- 
berg,  and  Claustal,  where  the  various  smelting  furnaces 
and  mines  became  a  special  object  of  his  attention.  One 
of  his  purposes  in  taking  this  journey  was  to  gather  infor- 
mation for  one  of  his  favourite  projects,  the  reopening  of  the 
Ilmenau  mines.  He  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  happy 
prosperity  which  the  mining  towns  derive  from  treasures 
stored  away  in  the  hills,  and  with  strange  sensations  con- 
trasted them  with  his  native  city,  which  was  mouldering 
in  the  midst  of  its  privileges.  Intercgurse  with  these  Ql 
humble  people  was  refreshing  to  him.  '  "  How  this  lonesome  ^  ' 
journey  has  taught  me  to  love  the  class  of  men  that  is  -ai/t'-» 

called  the  lower,  which,  however,  in  the  eyes  of  God  is 
certainly  the  highest!  Here  one  finds  all  virtues  tinited: 
self-restraint,  contentment,  straightforwardness,  fidelity, 
joy  over  most  humble  possessions,  innocence,  patience- 
patience — endurance  in  tm — I  will  not  lose  myself  in 
exclamations . ' '  - — ' 

No  stormy  weather,  no  swampy  road,  no  bad  lodgings 
were  able  to  disturb  his  lofty  frame  of  mind.  Beyond 
Claustal  he  turned  toward  the  highest  peak  of  the  mount- 
ains, the  climbing  of  which  had  promised  him  a  most 
beautiful  reward,  even  before  he  left  home.  It  was  the 
loth  of  December.  Everything  was  covered  with  deep 
snow.  Nowadays  when  people  attempt  to  ascend  Monte 
Rosa  and  the  Grossglockner  in  the  winter,  the  climbing  of 
the  Brocken  in  December  is  considered  a  mere  trifle.  In 
those  days  fancy  peopled  a  snow-covered  mountain  with 
horrible  dangers.  Day  after  day  Goethe  had  made  in- 
quiries about  his  undertaking  and  everybody  declared 
it  to  be  impossible.  When  he  went  to  the  forester  who 
lived  in  the  peat  house  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  he  too 
said  it  was  impossible  to  make  the  ascent,  especially  on 
account  of  the  fog,  in  which  one  could  not  see  three  steps 
in  advance.  '  "There  I  sat,"  Goethe  writes  to  his  beloved, 
"with  heavy  heart  and  half  in  the  notion  of  returning.  I 
seemed  to  myself  like  the  king,*  whom  the  prophet  bids  to 

*  Cf.  2  Kings  xiii.,  17-19. — C. 


340  Zbc  life  of  (Boetbe 

smite  with  his  bow,  and  who  smites  too  few  times.  I  was 
still  and  prayed  the  gods  to  turn  the  heart  of  this  man  and 
the  weather,  and  was  still.  Then  he  said  to  me:  'Now 
you  can  see  the  Brocken.'  I  stepped  to  the  window  and  it 
lay  before  me  as  distinct  as  my  face  in  a  mirror ;  then  my 
heart  rejoiced  and  I  cried:  'And  I  should  not  get  to  the 
top!  Have  you  no  servant,  no  one?'  And  he  said:  'I 
will  go  with  you.'_  I  cut  a  sign  in  the  window  as  a  witness 
of  my  tears  of  joy,  and  if  it  were  not  to  you  I  should  con- 
sider it  a  sin  to  write  it.  I  could  not  believe  it,  till  we 
reached  the  topmost  cliff.  All  the  fog  lay  below,  and  up 
there  it  was  gloriously  clear."  What  he  felt  up  there 
among  the  granite  cliffs  of  the  summit,  the  sky  with  the 
bright  sun  above  him,  a  surging  sea  of  fog  beneath  him,  and 
thus  to  the  outer  eye  completely  separated  from  all  hu- 
man activities,  we  find  revealed  in  the  hymn-like  essay  on 
granite,  which,  it  is  true,  was  not  written  till  later,  but  is 
evidently  based  on  the  memories,  or,  more  probably,  on 
the  sketches  of  those  days.  "  I  do  not  fear  the  reproach," 
r'says  the  author  of  Werther,  "that  it  must  be  a  spirit  of 
contradiction  that  has  led  me  from  the  observation  and  de- 
scription of  the  human  heart,  the  most  recent,  most  com- 
plex, most  mobile,  most  changeable,  most  perturbable  part 
of  creation,  to  the  consideration  of  the  oldest,  hardest,  deep- 
est, firmest  son  of  nature.  For  it  will  readily  be  granted, 
that  all  natural  things  have  an  exact  relation  to  one  another, 
that  the  searching  mind  does  not  willingly  allow  itself  to 
be  excluded  from  anything  attainable.  Let  me,  who  have 
suffered  and  still  suffer  many  things  from  the  variations 
of  human  emotions,  through  their  quick  changes  in  myself 
and  in  others,  enjoy  the  sublime  peace  which  that  lonely, 
silent  presence  of  great  whispering  nature  bestows,  and  let 
him  who  divines  something  of  it  follow  me^^^ 

"With  these  sentiments  I  approach  you,  ye  oldest, 
worthiest  monuments  of  time.  Sitting  upon  a  lofty  bar- 
ren summit  and  overlooking  a  wide  landscape,  I  can  say 
to  myself:  'Here  dost  thou  rest  directly  upon  a  ground 
that  extends  down  to  the  deepest  places  of  the  earth;   no 


Iln  tbc  Ibars  anb  5wit3erlan^  341 

newer  stratum,  no  heaped-up,  washed-together  fragments 
have  been  deposited  between  thee  and  the  solid  bottom  of 
the  primeval  w^orld. '  ...  In  this  moment,  when  the 
earth's  inner  powers  of  attraction  and  motion  are  exerted 
upon  me  directly,  as  it  were,  when  the  influences  of  Heaven 
hover  about  me  more  closely,  I  am.  attimed  to  the  higher 
thoughts  of  nature,  and,  as  the  human  mind  is  wont  to 
see  a  soul  and  life  in  everything,  there  dawns  upon  my 
mind  a  comparison,  the  sublimity  of  which  I  cannot  resist. 
'So  lonely,'  I  say  to  myself,  as  I  look  down  from  this  ut- 
terly barren  summit,  and  even  at  the  foot  in  the  distance 
can  scarcely  see  a  bit  of  puny  moss, — 'so  lonely,'  I  say, 
'will  that  man  be,  who  opens  his  soul  to  none  but  the 
oldest,  first,  and  deepest  feelings  of  truth.'  Indeed  he  can 
say  to  himself :  '  Here  upon  the  oldest  eternal  altar,  reared 
directly  upon  the  depths  of  creation,  I  offer  to  the  Being  of 
all  beings  my  humble  sacrifice. '  " 

That  evening  and  the  next  day  Goethe  was  still  so 
full  of  sacred  emotion  that  he  involuntarily  spoke  of  the 
event  in  the  language  of  the  Bible.  We  have  observed  this 
already  in  the  above-quoted  passage  of  his  account  of  the 
journey  to  the  summit.  Now  we  may,  by  way  of  supple- 
ment, hear  how  he  introduces  his  account:  "What  shall  I 
say  of  the  Lord  with  my  quill,  what  manner  of  song  shall  I 
sing  of  him,  at  a  time  when  to  me  all  prose  becomes  poetry 
and  all  poetry  prose?  It  is  not  possible  to  say  with  my 
lips  what  I  have  experienced,  how  shall  I  accomplish  it  with 
this  sharp  thing?  Dear  friend,  God  is  dealing  with  me 
as  with  his  saints  of  old,  and  I  know  not  whence  it  comes 
to  me.  If  I  pray  that,  as  a  sign,  the  fleece  may  be  dry  and 
the  threshing-floor  wet,  it  is  so,  and  vice  versa  also,  and 
above  all  else  the  more  than  motherly  guidance  to  my 
wishes.  The  goal  of  my  desire  is  reached,  it  hangs  by 
many  threads  and  many  threads  hung  from  it,  you  know 
how  symbolic  my  life  is. — I  said  [in  a  former  letter] :  '  I 
have  a  desire  to  see  the  full  moon.'  Now,  dearest,  when 
I  step  outside  the  door  there  lies  the  Brocken  before  me 
in  the  glorious  light  of  the  full  moon  above  the  firs,  and  I 


342  Zbc  %itc  of  (Boetbe 

was  up  there  to-day,  and  upon  the  Teufelsaltar  offered  up 
to  my  God  the  sacrifice  of  most  heartfelt  thanksgiving. "  * 

Three  more  days  he  travelled  in  the  moim tains,  then 
joined  the  "brethren,"  who  had  meanwhile  been  on  a  hunt 
in  Eisenach,  and  they  went  home  together.  The  excur- 
sion had  lasted  but  little  over  two  weeks,  but  it  had  left 
deep  traces  behind.  He  had  seemed  to  himself  one  beloved 
of  God  and  guided  by  him  on  this  journey,  on  which  on  one 
occasion  good  fortune  alone  had  saved  his  life.  That  God 
loved  him  and  guided  him  he  could  only  conclude  from  the 
mission  intrusted  to  him,  and  he  began  to  cherish  a  rever- 
ence for  the  potential  divinity  in  him — the  highest  and 
most  religious  of  all  reverences,  as  he  later  explained  in 
the  Wanderjahre — and  to  strive  to  preserve  and  unfold  it 
in  perfect  purity. 

"  Lonely  will  that  man  be,  who  opens  his  soul  to  none 
but  the  oldest,  first,  and  deepest  feelings  of  truth." 

Goethe  returns  to  Weimar  with  this  determination,  and 
the  result  is  as  indicated.  He  becomes  lonely  in  the 
midst  of  the  fair,  gay  circle  of  men  and  women  about  him. 
His  eye  turns  inward.  We  hear  of  no  more  wild  carous- 
ing, as  in  the  first  two  years  in  Weimar,  and  even  in 
more  moderate  pleasures  he  participates  less  frequently, 
and  then  in  a  more  subdued,  at  times  merely  perfunctory 
manner.  He  often  looks  on  like  Faust  amid  the  insipid 
mirth  of  Auerbachs  Keller.  The  entries  in  his  diary  clearly 
betray  the  change  in  his  character.  In  the  first  week  of 
February,  1778,  he  notes:  "This  week  much  on  the  ice, 
always  in  the  same,  almost  too  pure  frame  of  mind.  Beau- 
tiful revelations  about  myself  and  our  business.  Peace 
and  premonition  of  wisdom."  On  the  12th  of  February: 
"Continued,   complete  estrangement  from  men."     About 

*  Und  Altar  des  lieblichsten  Dankes 
Wird  ihm  des  gefurchteten  Gipfels 
Schneebehangner  Scheitel. — Harzreise. 

[And  an  altar  of  dearest  thanksgiving 
Seemeth  to  him  the  awesome  summit's 
Snow-bemantlcd  crest.] 


In  tbe  Ibars  anb  Switserlant)  343 


the  same  time  he  sings  {An  den  Mond):  "Happy  is  he 
who  shuts  himself  off  from  the  world  without  hatred." 
In  December  he  confesses :  "  I  am  not  made  for  this  world  " ; 
in  the  following  March:  "At  present  I  live  with  the  men 
of  this  world  and  eat  and  drink,  even  joke  with  them,  but 
scarcely  feel  a  trace  of  them,  for  my  inner  life  goes  steadily 
on  its  own  way." 

The  development  for  which  the  journey  to  the  Harz 
Mountains  prepared  the  way  is  completed  and  made 
permanent  by  the  Swiss  journey.  Just  as  it  lasted  much 
longer,  so  were  its  effects  much  more  manifold.  It  stimu- 
lated his  heart  and  mind  in  almost  all  directions.  The 
mere  fact  that  he  returned  to  his  home  and  to  Alsatia  after 
four  significant  years  was  for  him  a  great  inward  experi- 
ence. Composed,  and  yet  deeply  moved,  he  wrote  to  his 
mother,  who  had  often  longed  for  her  beloved  son,  an- 
noxincing  his  approaching  visit.  "The  Duke  desires  to  en- 
joy the  beautiful  autimm  on  the  Rhine ;  I  would  go  with 
him  and  Chamberlain  Wedel.  We  would  lodge  with  you 
and  stay  a  few  days  .  .  .  then  go  on  by  water,  then 
return  and  make  our  headquarters  with  you,  and  from 
there  visit  the  neighbourhood.  Whether  taken  prosaically 
or  poetically,  as  a  matter  of  fact  this  is  the  dot  on  the  i  of 
your  past  life,  for  I  return  for  the  first  time  to  my  father- 
land entirely  well  and  happy,  and  wdth  all  possible  honour. 
But  inasmuch  as  I  should  also  like,  seeing  that  the  vine- 
yards on  the  moimtains  of  Samaria  have  flourished  so  well, 
that  the  fruit  thereof  be  enjoyed,  my  only  desire  is  that 
you  and  father  may  receive  us  with  open  and  apprecia- 
tive hearts  and  thank  God  that  he  lets  you  see  your  son 
again  in  his  thirtieth  year  in  this  way.  ...  I  do  not 
expect  the  impossible.  It  has  not  been  God's  will  that 
father  should  enjoy  the  fruit,  now  ripe,  for  which  he  so 
ardently  yearned.  His  appetite  has  been  taken  away,* 
and  God's  will  be  done.  I  shall  be  satisfied  with  whatever 
the  himiour  of  the  moment  prompts  him  to  do.  But  I 
should  like  to  see  you  right  happy  and  give  you  a  good 

*  Goethe's  father  had  become  feeble-minded. 


344  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

day  such  as  I  have  never  given  you  before.  I  have  every- 
thing that  man  can  desire,  a  life  in  which  I  daily  exercise 
myself  and  daily  grow,  and  this  time  I  retiim  to  you  in 
health,  no  longer  a  prey  to  passion  and  confusion,  no 
longer  following  blind  instinct,  but  as  one  beloved  of  God, 
who  has  lived  half  his  life,  and  whose  past  suffering  gives 
him  immunity  from  further  sorrows  and  fills  his  future 
with  abundant  hope.  If  I  find  you  and  father  happy  I 
shall  return  with  joy  to  the  daily  tasks  and  toils  that 
await  me." 

On  the  1 8th  of  September,  with  the  Duke  and  Wedel, 
he  arrived  in  Frankfort.     Every  other  description  of  the 
entrance  of  the  guests  into  Goethe's  father's  house  must 
keep  silent  before  the  words  in  which  his  mother's  rejoicing 
heart  reported  it.     "The  i8th  of  September,"  she  writes 
to  Duchess  Amalia,  "was  the  great  day  when  old  father 
Goethe  and  Frau  Aja  envied  the  blissful  gods  neither  their 
dwelling  in  high  Olympus,  nor  their  ambrosia  and  nectar, 
neither  their  vocal  nor  their  instrumental  music,  but  were 
so  happy,  so  completely  happy,  that  it  is  doubtful  if  ever 
mortal  man  has  tasted  greater  or  purer  joys  than  we  two 
happy  parents  did  on  this  day  of  jubilation  and  joy.     .     .     . 
His  Highness,  our  most  gracious  and  most  excellent  Duke, 
in  order  completely  to  surprise  us,  dismoimted  at  a  dis- 
tance from  our  house,  and  so  came  noiselessly  to  the  door, 
rang,   entered   the   blue   room,   etc.     Imagine   now.   Your 
Highness,  how  Frau  Aja  is  sitting  at  the  round  table,  how 
the  door  of  the  room  opens,  how  in  the  same  moment  her 
darHng  boy  falls  upon  her  neck,  how  the  Duke  at  some 
distance  beholds  for  a  moment  the  mother's  joy,  how  finally 
Frau  Aja  hastens  to  the   Prince  as  if  intoxicated,   half 
weeping,  half  laughing,   not  knowing  at  all  what  to  do, 
and  how  the  handsome  Chamberlain  von  Wedel  also  takes 
a  deep  interest  in  the  wonderful  joy.     Finally  the  scene 
with   the   father — that   cannot   possibly   be   described.     I 
was  afraid  he  would  die  on  the  spot ;  even  to-day,  after  His 
Highness  has  been  gone  from  us  a  considerable  time,  he 
has  not  yet  fully  recovered,  and  Frau  Aja  is  not  a  whit 


Hn  tbe  1bar3  anb  Swltserlanb  345 

better.  Your  Highness  can  easily  fancy  how  pleased  and 
happy  we  have  been  during  these  five  days.  Merck  came 
also,  and  conducted  himself  pretty  well ;  he  never  can  leave 
the  Mephistopheles  entirely  at  home,  it  is  true,  but  we  are 
used  to  that.  .  .  .  Now  all  that  befell  the  handsome 
Chamberlain  von  Wedel  and  Privy  Councillor  Goethe, 
the  way  in  which  our  most  noble  Frdulein  Gdnscher  *  put 
on  airs  and  set  their  caps  for  them,  but  failed,  and  so  on, 
this  certainly  ought  to  be  arranged  in  a  pretty  drama. 
.  .  .  Then  further,  when  Frau  Aja  could  no  longer  con- 
tain herself,  but  had  to  steal  away  into  a  comer  and  give 
vent  to  her  feelings,  I  am  quite  sure  our  most  excellent 
Princess  would  have  rejoiced  at  our  joy,  for  it  was  not 
dissembled;  it  was  true  feeling  of  the  heart.  This  is  a 
little  sketch  of  those  days,  which,  in  the  words  of  the  late 
Werther,  were  such  as  God  stores  up  for  his  saints,  and 
now  one  can  again  take  up  one's  burden  and  plod  along 
through  this  every-day  world."  A  few  days  later  she  adds, 
by  way  of  supplement:  "I  foimd  my  darling  boy  very 
greatly  changed  for  the  better.  He  looks  healthier  and 
has  become  manlier  in  every  way.  But  his  moral  character 
has  not  changed  in  the  least,  much  to  the  joy  of  his  old 
acquaintances;  everybody  found  him  the  same  old  friend. 
I  was  rejoiced  in  my  soul  to  see  how  quickly  every  one 
became  fond  of  him  again — the  rejoicing  among  the  yoiing 
women,  among  my  relatives  and  acquaintances,  the  joy 
of  my  aged  mother." 

Through  the  Palatinate  the  travellers  journey  to  Alsatia. 
Goethe  yearns  to  see  his  forsaken  Friederike  again.  He 
leaves  his  companions  for  a  day  and  rides  out  to  Sesenheim. 
"There  I  found  the  family  as  I  had  left  them  eight  years 
before,  and  was  given  a  very  kind  and  friendly  reception. 
As  I  am  now  as  pure  and  calm  as  the  air,  the  presence  of 
good,  quiet  people  is  very  agreeable  to  me.  The  second 
daughter  of  the  house  formerly  loved  me,  more  dearly 
than  I  deserved,  and  more  than  others  on  whom  I  have 
bestowed  much  passion  and  fidelity ;   I  was  forced  to  leave 

*  In  the  Frankfort  dialect  Gdnscher  is  the  plural  of  Cans,  "goose." — C. 


346  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

her  in  a  moment  when  it  well-nigh  cost  her  life.  She 
passed  lightly  over  that  fact,  told  me  what  traces  stiU 
remained  of  that  illness,  conducted  herself  in  a  most  lovely 
manner  and  with  such  cordiality  from  the  very  first  mo- 
ment when  I  imexpectedly  appeared  on  the  threshold  and 
we  ran  into  each  other,  that  I  felt  quite  relieved.  To  her 
credit  I  must  say  that  she  did  not  make  the  slightest  at- 
tempt to  awaken  any  former  feehngs  within  my  breast. 

"She  led  me  into  every  arbour,  and  there  I  had  to  sit 
down,  and  it  was  well  so.  We  had  the  most  beautiful  full 
moon ;  I  inquired  about  everything.  A  neighbour  who  had 
formerly  helped  us  in  our  labours  was  called  in,  and  he  said 
he  had  asked  about  me  only  a  week  ago;  the  barber  had 
to  come  in  too;  I  found  old  songs  that  I  had  composed 
and  a  coach  I  had  painted;  we  recalled  many  pranks  of 
those  happy  days,  and  I  foimd  that  they  all  remembered 
me  as  well  as  if  I  had  hardly  been  gone  six  months.  The 
old  people  were  very  cordial;  they  thought  I  had  grown 
younger.  I  stayed  over  night  and  departed  the  next 
morning  at  sunrise,  leaving  behind  me  friendly  faces,  so 
that  I  can  now  think  once  more  of  this  little  comer  of  the 
world  with  satisfaction  and  live  in  peace  with  the  spirits 
of  these  reconciled  friends." 

He  rode  on  to  Strasburg  and  there,  too,  sought  out  a 
former  sweetheart,  Lili.  She  had  meanwhile,  after  many 
tribulations,  been  married  to  the  banker,  Bemhard  von 
Tiirckheim,  a  finely  educated  man  of  strong  character,  and 
Goethe  found  her  playing  with  her  little  seven-weeks-old 
daughter.  She  seemed  to  him  perfectly  happy  and  he 
gladly  convinced  himself  that  she  had  everything  she 
needed.  He  was  given  a  most  friendly  reception  and 
departed  with  the  same  feeling  of  satisfaction  as  from 
Sesenheim. 

What  great  changes  had  taken  place  in  Goethe  within 
a  few  years  may  be  learned  from  a  comparison  of  the  letters 
quoted,  their  noble,  harmonious  flow  and  profound  repose, 
with  the  restless,  vacillating  letters  of  1775  and  1776,  and 
their  sudden   transitions   from   the   most   sublime   to   the 


In  tbe  Ibars  ant)  Svvitserlanb  347 

commonest  style.    Not  merely  three  or  four  years, — a  whole 
lifetime  seems  to  lie  between  them. 

On  the  26th  of  May,  1775,  Goethe  had  written  to 
Johanna  Fahlmer:  "The  devil  take  me,  Aimt!  it  is  Friday 
the  26th  and  I  am  still  in  Strasburg.  But  to-morrow  I 
go  to  Emmendingen.  The  world  seems  mad  and  queer 
wherever  I  go."  On  this  occasion  also  he  went  from 
Strasburg  to  Emmendingen,  where  he  fotmd  his  "Aunt" 
the  wife  of  his  brother-in-law,  Schlosser.  ComeHa  had 
died  on  the  8th  of  June,  1777.  Mournfully  he  writes: 
"  Here  I  am  now  at  the  grave  of  my  sister;  her  household 
is  to  me  as  a  tablet,  once  graced  by  a  beloved  figure  now 
effaced."  From  Emmendingen  the  journey  is  continued 
to  Basel,  and  on  along  the  course  of  the  Birs  through  nar- 
row winding  gorges  in  the  Jura  Mountains.  Just  before 
reaching  Munster  (Moutier),  they  pass  through  the  most 
impressive  part  of  the  valley,  the  Munstertal  (Val  Mout- 
ier), which  inspires  Goethe  with  the  wish  that  it  might 
have  been  his  lot  to  dwell  in  the  midst  of  grand  scenery. 
"  Ever>''  morning  I  would  drink  in  from  it  greatness,  as  I 
do  patience  and  tranquillity  from  my  lovely  valley."  At 
the  end  of  the  gorge  he  turns  back  alone  to  study  more 
closely  its  geological  formation.  He  rejoices  to  see  verified 
his  theory  of  the  gradual  growth  of  the  earth's  crust  without 
any  revolutionary  catastrophe.  "  One  feels  deeply  that 
here  there  is  no  caprice,  all  is  the  product  of  slow- work- 
ing, eternal  law."  From  Munster  the  travellers  proceed 
via  Biel  to  the  canton  of  Bern,  where  they  feel  something 
of  the  blessings  possible  under  a  republican  constitution. 
In  the  landscape  "everv^thing  is  happily  laid  out  and 
adorned,  and  looks  cheerful,  productive,  and  rich.  The 
city  is  the  most  beautiful  we  have  seen;  it  is  built  on  a 
plan  of  civic  equality.  The  uniformity  and  cleanliness 
are  a  great  comfort,  especially  as  one  feels  that  there  is  no 
empty  ornamentation  or  dead  level  of  despotism.  From 
Bern  they  go  to  Thun  for  a  several-days'  excursion  into  the 
Oberland.  On  the  9th  of  October,  in  the  afternoon,  the 
company   arrives   at   Lauterbrunnen,    where   they  admire 


348  ^be  Xtfe  of  (Boetbe 

the  famous  Staubbach  waterfall.  Nowadays  this  fall  is 
not  so  much  admired,  because  its  volume  of  water  is  too 
small.  But  at  that  time  the  peculiar  phenomenon  had  a 
magic  effect  on  the  observer.  Goethe  becomes  absorbed  in 
it,  sees  water  sprites  ascending  and  descending  in  the  veil  of 
mist,  and  hears  them  singing  of  the  soul  and  water  in 
wonderful  strophes  which  become  to  him  a  symbol  of  his 
own  life.* 

From  Lauterbrunnen  the  company  took  a  side  trip  to 
the  magnificent  region  of  the  head  of  the  valley,  climbed 
the  Ober-Steinberg  and  a  part  of  the  Tschingel  Glacier. 
On  the  nth  of  October  their  journey  was  continued  to 
Grindelwald,  not,  as  is  usual  nowadays,  over  the  Wengem- 
alp,  which  was  considered  a  very  difficult  route,  but  through 
the  valley  via  Zweiliitschinen.  After  they  had  seen  the 
two  glaciers  in  Grindelwald  they  crossed  over  the  Grosse 
Scheideck  to  Meiringen.  There  Goethe  made  a  vain  search 
for  a  relative  of  Peter  Imbaumgarten,  a  young  Swiss  whom 
he  had  taken  to  his  home  in  Weimar  by  reason  of  a 
legacy  from  Baron  von  Lindau.  Proceeding  via  Brienz 
and  the  Brienzer  See  they  arrived  on  the  14th  at  Inter- 
laken,  or,  more  correctly,  Unterseen,  at  that  time  only  a 
plain,  quiet  village,  whence  they  returned  to  Bern. 

The  whole  tour  had  been  to  Goethe  a  source  of  highest 
rapture.  He  declares  himself  incapable  of  giving  an 
adequate  conception  of  the  glorious  bit  of  the  Alps  that 
he  has  seen.  Not  even  thought  or  memory  can  compare 
with  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the  scenes  and  their 
loveliness  in  such  lights,  at  such  times  of  day,  and  from 
such  points  of  view.  .  .  .  Later,  when  he  published 
the  description  of  his  Alpine  tour  of  1779,  he  did  not  feel 
able  worthily  to  supplement  this  part  of  it  from  memory 
and  preferred  to  leave  a  gap.  He  was  sorry  to  be  obliged 
to  content  himself  with  lightly  skimming  the  cream  of 
the  Oberland.  "  If  I  had  been  alone,  I  should  have  gone 
higher  and  deeper,  but  with  the  Duke  I  had  to  keep  within 
moderation."     After  a  few  days'  rest  in  Bern  the  travellers 

*  Cf.  Gesang  der  Geister  iiber  den  Wassern. — C. 


Iln  tbe  Ibars  anb  Swltscrlanb  349 

set  off  for  Lake  Geneva  and  reached  its  shore  at  Lausanne. 
They  first  felt  its  full  charm  in  Vevay,  where  nature  and 
Rousseau's  poetry  were  united  in  most  beautiful  harmony. 
Goethe  could  not  refrain  from  tears  when  he  saw  before 
him  all  the  places  which  Rousseau  through  his  Nouvelle 
Heloise  had  peopled  with  sensuous  beings.  From  Vevay 
the  company  rode  westward  in  the  direction  of  Geneva 
as  far  as  Rolle.  From  there  they  took  a  side  trip  into  the 
southern  part  of  the  Jura  in  order  to  visit  the  Vallee  de 
Joux,  washed  out  in  the  summit  of  the  mountain  range. 
This  brought  them  back  again  into  Bernese  territory  and 
Goethe  once  more  enjoyed  the  prosperity,  activity,  and 
cleanliness  of  the  inhabitants,  but,  above  all,  the  fine  high- 
ways, w^hich  he,  the  Weimar  commissioner  of  highways, 
had  not  expected  in  this  remote  mountain  region.  As 
they  ascended  the  summit  valley  in  order  to  reach  the  Dole 
they  entered  French  territory.  Here  was  a  great  transi- 
tion. "The  first  thing  we  noticed  was  the  bad  roads. 
The  soil  is  very  stony  .  .  .  the  surrounding  forests 
are  ruined,  one  can  readily  see  in  the  appearance  of  houses 
and  inhabitants,  I  will  not  say,  their  want,  but  at  least 
their  very  straitened  circumstances;  they  belong  almost 
as  serfs  to  the  canons  of  St.  Claude,  they  are  bound  to  the 
soil,  and  are  taxed  heavily,  sujets  h  la  main  morte  et  au 
droit  de  la  suite."  The  summit  of  the  Dole  was  reached 
at  noon;  the  weather  was  splendid.  Goethe  here  enjoyed 
a  panorama  of  the  Alps  such  as  he  had  not  seen  before. 
On  the  top  of  the  Rigi,  four  years  before,  the  weather  was 
foggy,  and  since  then  he  had  not  ascended  any  peak  which 
afforded  a  comprehensive  view  of  the  Alps  and  their  foot- 
hills. What  here  impressed  itself  upon  his  eyes  and  soul 
he  has  depicted  for  us  with  incomparable  beauty.  After 
having  described  the  green  hills  between  Vevay,  Geneva, 
and  Solothurn,  with  their  thousand  blinking  villages,  he 
continues :  "  And  ever  again  were  our  eyes  and  souls  drawn 
to  the  series  of  gleaming  ice-covered  mountains.  The  sun 
inclined  more  toward  the  west  and  illuminated  their  larger 
surfaces  before  us.     What  black  rocky  ridges  and  crags. 


350  Zbc  %\tc  Of  (Boetbe 

towers  and  walls  rise  up  from  the  lake  in  serried  files  be- 
fore them,  forming  stupendous,  wild,  impenetrable  outer 
courts,  when  once  we  see  their  manifold  forms  lying  clear 
and  distinct  in  full  view  before  us!  It  makes  one  feel 
like  giving  up  every  pretension  to  comprehend  the  infinite 
when  one's  perceptions  and  reasonings  do  not  suffice  for 
the  finite.  Before  us  we  saw  a  fruitful  inhabited  country; 
even  the  soil  upon  which  we  stood,  a  lofty,  barren  mountain, 
produces  grass  and  forage  for  animals  useful  to  man,  and 
the  arrogant  master  of  the  world  may  yet  appropriate  it  to 
his  service ;  but  those  peaks  are  like  a  row  of  sacred  virgins 
whom  the  Spirit  of  Heaven  guards  for  himself  alone  in 
eternal  purity  in  the  impenetrable  regions  before  our  eyes. 
.  .  .  Even  when  nearer  to  the  valley  our  eyes  dwelt 
only  upon  the  icy  peaks  in  front  of  us.  Those  farthest  to 
the  left  in  the  Oberland  seemed  to  melt  in  a  light  fiery 
vapour,  those  nearest  still  stood  out  clear  with  their  red 
sides ;  little  by  little  those  farthest  away  became  a  whitish, 
greenish  gray.  It  almost  looked  alarming.  As  a  mighty 
body  dying  from  without  toward  the  heart  they  all  slowly 
paled  away  toward  Mont  Blanc,  whose  broad  bosom  still 
gleamed  red,  and  even  after  that  faded  away  seemed  to 
retain  a  reddish  hue,  just  as  when  one  is  unwilling  to  recog- 
nise at  once  the  death  of  a  loved  one  and  mark  the  moment 
when  the  pulse  ceases  to  beat." 

Unfortunately,  one  might  almost  say,  the  symbolical 
truth  of  this  wonderfully  toned  picture  has  suffered  in  one 
point.  The  sublime  conception  of  the  high  peaks  as  un- 
approachable heavenly  virgins  has  been  lost  to  the  daring 
generation  of  the  present. 

On  the  27  th  of  October  the  travellers  went  to  Geneva 
where  Goethe  was  much  admired  as  the  author  of  Werther. 
He  and  the  Duke  had  a  burning  desire  to  go  to  Chamouni, 
to  the  foot  of  Mont  Blanc  and  descend  thence  by  a  pass 
into  the  valley  of  the  Rhone.  The  good  Genevese  still 
lived  in  dread  of  high  mountains.  In  beautiful  summer 
weather  some  of  them  had  occasionally,  it  is  true,  ventured 
into  that  wilderness  and  brought  back  tales  of  horror,  but 


1ln  the  Ibars  an^  Swlt3crIan^  351 

they  could  not  understand  how  any  one  should  care  to  go 
there  in  November.  They  appealed  to  the  Duke  with  most 
earnest  protestations  and  made  of  the  undertaking  a  matter 
of  conscience  and  of  state.  Goethe  had  already  learned  by 
experience  in  the  Harz  Mountains  what  foundation  there 
was  for  such  anxieties.  In  order  to  satisfy  himself  and  the 
objectors  he  proposed  that  they  consult  the  well-known 
physicist,  de  Saussure,  who  was  quite  familiar  with  the 
Mont  Blanc  region  and  had  once  himself  attempted  to 
ascend  the  moimtain.  "  For  such  are  the  people,  me  thinks, 
that  one  must  ask,  if  one  will  get  along  in  the  world." 
Saussure  declared  they  could  make  the  trip  without  the 
slightest  danger;  they  need  only  pay  heed  to  the  weather 
and  the  advice  of  the  countrymen. 

Highly  pleased,  the  Duke  and  Goethe  set  off  on  the  3rd 
of  November  through  the  valley  of  the  Arve  toward  Mont 
Blanc,  Wedel,  who  was  subject  to  dizziness,  remaining 
behind.  On  the  following  day  it  had  already  grown  dark 
when  the  wanderers  approached  Chamoimi.  "The  stars 
came  out  one  after  another,  and  above  the  summits  of  the 
mountains  before  us  to  the  right  we  saw  a  light  which  we 
could  not  explain;  clear,  without  lustre,  like  the  Milky 
Way,  but  denser,  almost  like  the  Pleiades,  only  larger,  it 
held  our  attention  a  long  time  tintil,  finally,  as  we  changed 
our  point  of  view,  like  a  pyramid  pervaded  by  a  mysterious 
inner  light,  best  compared  perhaps  with  the  light  of  a 
glow-worm,  it  towered  above  the  tops  of  all  the  mountains 
and  made  us  sure  it  was  the  simimit  of  Mont  Blanc."  The 
inhabitants  of  Chamouni  were  not  a  little  surprised  to  see 
strangers  arriving  so  late  in  the  year.  On  the  morrow  the 
tourists  climbed  Montanvert  in  order  to  get  a  full  view  of 
the  Mer  de  Glace,  took  a  few  hundred  steps  upon  its  wavy 
crystal  cliffs,  and  then  descended.  As  longer  excursions 
were  out  of  the  question  they  left  the  mighty  mass  of  Mont 
Blanc  after  a  stay  of  only  one  day.  With  the  aid  of  a  guide 
they  sought  to  cross  over  the  Col  de  Balme  to  Martigny. 
Battling  clouds  enhanced  the  wild  charm  of  the  scenery. 
At  the  top  of  the  pass  the  wind  whistled  sharply,  it  snowed 


352  Zbc  %\te  of  Goetbe 

somewhat,  and  the  descent  was  wearisome,  but  in  the 
evening  they  rested  comfortably  in  the  warm,  flat  valley  of 
the  Rhone.  This  was  the  toiir  which  the  delicate  Genevese 
had  described  as  a  journey  to  Hell. 

A  more  ambitious  and  critical  part  of  the  journey  was 
to  follow,  up  the  valley  of  the  Rhone,  and  over  the  Furca 
to  St.  Gothard.  Even  Saussure  had  left  the  question 
open,  whether  or  not  they  could  cross  the  Furca  so  late  in 
the  year.  But,  undismayed,  the  Duke  and  his  minister 
marched  on  up  the  long  valley,  accompanied  only  by  a 
servant.  Long  before  they  reached  the  Furca  they  came 
to  snow,  and  Goethe  began  to  be  tortured  by  evil  fore- 
bodings. On  the  1 2th  of  November,  at  nine  in  the  morn- 
ing, they  arrived  at  Oberwald,  the  highest  inhabited  place 
in  the  valley,  one  hour  from  the  Furca.  With  great  excite- 
ment they  here  made  their  final  inquiries.  The  Furca 
was  no  Brocken,  the  way  lay  for  seven  hours  through 
iminhabited  regions,  and  they  dared  not  take  too  great  a 
risk  with  a  sovereign.  It  was  a  comfort  for  them  to  hear 
from  the  inhabitants  that  there  were  people  in  the  village 
who  often  went  over  in  the  winter.  The  Duke  and  Goethe 
sent  for  two  such  men,  who,  when  they  had  examined  the 
travellers,  signified  their  willingness  to  make  the  trip  with 
them.  Behind  the  village  the  broad  masses  of  ice  of  the 
Rhone  Glacier  soon  appeared  and  heightened  the  awe- 
inspiring  character  of  the  landscape.  From  the  foot  of  the 
glacier  the  ascent  began  to  be  very  steep.  The  snow  grew 
deeper  and  the  advance  more  tiresome.  Light  clouds 
passed  over  the  pale  sun  and  for  a  time  sifted  down  large 
flakes  of  snow  upon  the  immense  monotonous  mountain 
desert.  The  depths  from  which  the  wanderers  had  come 
lay  grey  and  endless  in  the  clouds  behind  them.  Here  even 
Goethe  unmistakably  experienced  a  slight  tremor ;  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  he  was  the  son  of  his  time,  when  he  said  that  if 
a  man  on  this  journey  should  allow  his  imagination  to  gain 
the  mastery  over  him  he  would  be  sure  to  die  of  anxiety 
and  fear,  even  if  there  were  no  danger  apparent.  After  a 
strenuous  walk  of  three  and  a  half  hours  they  reached  the 


Hn  tbe  1bar3  anb  Swltserlant)  353 

top  of  the  pass.  The  cloudy  sky  deprived  them  of  the 
glorious  view  of  the  giant  peaks  about  Zermatt. 

The  descent  was  worse  than  the  ascent.  The  first  guide 
often  sank  to  his  hips  in  the  snow,  but  as  he  and  his  com- 
rade proved  to  be  capable  and  trustworthy,  and  the  storm 
held  off,  the  travellers  continued  their  way  in  good  spirits. 
After  three  and  a  half  hours  of  further  walking  they  found 
safe  shelter  with  the  Capuchin  fathers  in  Realp.  "It  is 
overcome;  the  knot  that  tied  up  our  tour  is  cut  in  two," 
wrote  Goethe  triumphantly  in  the  evening  to  Frau  von 
Stein.  Twelve  years  later  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt  turned 
back  at  the  sight  of  the  snow  on  the  Furca  in  October. 

On  the  next  day  they  followed  the  Urseren  valley,  of 
which  Goethe  again  became  very  fond,  as  far  as  Hospental, 
and  then  ascended  to  the  summit  of  the  St.  Gothard  Pass. 
For  what  would  a  Swiss  journey  have  been  without  climb- 
ing St.  Gothard?  The  sky  was  perfectly  clear  and  a  deep 
blue;  the  landscape  glistened  with  wonderful  lights,  but  it 
was  so  piercingly  cold  on  the  summit  that  the  wanderers 
scarcely  ventured  away  from  the  stove.  With  peculiar 
sensations  Goethe  recalled  his  former  visit  here  when  his 
cares,  sentiments,  plans,  and  hopes  had  been  quite  different, 
and  he,  not  suspecting  what  the  future  had  in  store  for  him, 
had  turned  his  back  on  Italy.  Even  now  the  "promised 
land"  possessed  no  charm  for  him.  He  turned  northward 
with  the  Duke,  and  in  a  few  days  they  came  via  Lucerne 
to  Zurich,  where  they  foiind  Lavater  so  cordial  that  Goethe 
declared  the  meeting  with  him  to  have  been  the  seal  and 
climax  of  the  journey.  During  the  fortnight  that  they 
tarried  in  the  beautiful  city  on  the  Limmat  they  made  a 
careful  study  of  the  art  collections,  as  had  been  their  custom 
throughout  the  journey.  Furthermore,  Goethe  began  a 
little  opera,  Jery  und  Bdtely,  the  Swiss  scenery  of  which 
was  permanently  to  waft  to  him  the  fresh  air  of  the  Alps. 
The  travellers  left  Switzerland  via  Schaffhausen  and  went 
to  Stuttgart,  where  they  spent  several  days  at  the  Court. 
Among  the  many  festivities  to  which  they  were  invited  by 
the  Duke  of  Wurttemberg  was  the  celebration  of  Founder's 

VOL.  I. — 23. 


354  ^be  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

Day  at  the  Military  Academy,  later  known  as  the  "  Hohe 
Karlsschule,"  at  which  the  pupil  Friedrich  Schiller  received 
three  prizes.  On  the  Rhine  they  visited  the  courts 
with  which  the  Duke  was  related, — Karlsruhe,  Darmstadt, 
Homburg,  and  Hanau,  where  they  were  thoroughly  chilled 
and  bored.  After  an  extended  visit  with  Frau  Aja  they 
retiimed  to  Weimar  on  the  13th  of  January,  1780. 

Goethe  and  Karl  August  came  home  exalted  and  happy, 
Goethe  so  full  of  enthusiasm  that  he  wished  to  see  the 
memory  of  the  journey  preserved  in  a  montmient  of  stone. 
His  desire  was  not  realised.  The  journey  remained,  never- 
theless, a  permanent  monument  in  the  lives  of  both. 


XXV 

INNER   STRUGGLES 

Effect  of  Swiss  journey  on  Goethe — Greater  devotion  to  official  duties — 
His  friend  Merck  and  his  mother  object  to  his  continuing  in  office — 
He  remains  firm — Leaves  his  Gartenhaus  and  moves  into  Weimar 
— Increased  isolation  and  silence — Premonitions  of  early  death — 
Mineralogical  studies — Fragmente  uber  den  Granit — Discovery  of 
the  intermaxillary — Discovery  of  the  metamorphosis  of  plants — 
Inner  longing  for  further  scientific  and  literary  production — 
Hindrances — Consciousness  of  his  real  calling — On  the  wheel  of 
Ixion — Intercourse  with  Frau  von  Stein  disturbed — Health  under- 
mined— Second  Werther  crisis — Yearning  for  Italy — Determina- 
tion to  seek  refuge  in  ffight — Steals  away  from  Karlsbad. 

GREAT  as  the  charm  of  the  picturesque  Swiss  journey 
must  have  been  for  such  a  susceptible  eye  as 
Goethe's,  much  as  his  scientific,  economic,  and 
artistic  observations  may  have  absorbed  his  attention,  the 
chief  value  and  chief  effect  of  the  journey  were  of  a  moral 
nature.  Through  the  visits  with  his  parents  and  the 
friends  and  loved  ones  of  his  youth,  the  first  part  of  the 
journey  assumed  the  aspect  of  a  great  confession  which 
absolved  him  from  the  tortures  and  oppressions  still  haunt- 
ing him  from  earlier  years.  The  genuine  cordiality  with 
which  he  was  everywhere  greeted  produced  in  him  a  truly 
ethereal  satisfaction  which  found  utterance  in  a  rosary 
of  purest,  most  faithful  friendship.  In  Switzerland  the 
sublimity  of  nature  gave  his  soul  new  wings.  Filled  with 
the  greatness  of  nature,  he  felt  his  soul  enlarge.  While 
he  tarried  in  the  angelic  tranquillity  and  peaceful  atmos- 
phere of  Lavater's  circle  his  whole  moral  nature  was  so 
stirred  that  he  hoped  to  put  aside  many  evils. 

355 


356  Zbc  %ifc  of  6octbe 

In  this  way  the  four  months'  contemplation  of  the  world 
and  of  himself  was  for  him  a  constant  process  of  elevation 
and  purification.  His  spirit,  which  since  the  Harz  journey- 
had  been  swayed  by  a  mighty,  idealistic  impulse,  now 
reached  such  an  exaltation,  such  clearness  and  seriousness, 
that  his  youthful  life — the  years  before  1778 — seemed  to 
him  petty,  confused,  and  lacking  in  purity.  He  now  called 
the  author  of  Gotz  an  untamed,  ill-bred  boy,  and  his  disgust 
at  the  wild  Storm-and-Stress  doings  of  his  first  years  in 
Weimar  became  so  intense  that  he  even  hated  to  see  again 
the  places  that  had  witnessed  his  imrestrained  pranks. 

With  the  moral  seriousness  that  had  come  over  him, 
and  the  consciousness  of  the  kindness  which  he  had  ex- 
perienced from  all  men,  he  appreciated  more  than  ever  his 
high  and  sacred  duty  to  devote  his  life  to  the  welfare  of 
the  people  of  the  little  coimtry  in  which  fate  had  allotted 
him  such  a  broad  influence.  As  he,  with  his  thirty  years, 
seemed  to  himself  rather  old,  and  since  he  did  not  know 
how  much  longer  his  thread  of  life  would  be  spun  out,  he 
determined  to  use  his  days  with  redoubled  energy, 

"The  daily  tasks  that  are  imposed  upon  me  and  daily 
become  easier  and  harder  demand  my  presence  whether  I 
wake  or  dream.  This  duty  becomes  daily  dearer  to  me, 
and  I  should  like  to  equal  the  greatest  men  in  the  per- 
formance of  it,  and  in  nothing  higher.  This  desire  to 
rear  to  as  great  a  height  as  possible  the  pyramid  of  my 
existence  upon  the  firmly  established  foundations  which 
have  been  given  me  outweighs  all  others,  and  scarcely 
permits  me  to  forget  it  for  one  moment.  I  dare  not  delay ; 
I  am  already  well  along  in  life,  and  fate  may  take  me  off 
in  the  midst  of  my  years,  and  the  Tower  of  Babylon  remain 
unfinished.  It  shall  at  least  be  said  that  the  plan  was 
bold,  and  if  I  live,  God  willing,  my  strength  shall  suffice" 
(to  Lavater,  September,  1780). 

This  strict  devotion  to  service  is,  for  a  poet,  for  an 
artistic  nature,  a  heroic  determination.  He  allows  nothing 
to  swerve  him  from  the  path  he  has  laid  out:  neither  the 
seductive  calls  of  poesy,  nor  the  temporary  longings  of  his 


flnncr  Strugolce  357 

heart,  nor  the  admonitions  of  others.  He  considers  all  these 
voices  to  be  those  of  evil  spirits  that  would  hinder  him  in 
the  accomplishment  of  good.  Poesy  he  seeks  almost  vio- 
lently to  suppress.  "  From  these  fountains  and  cascades 
I  withdraw  as  much  of  the  water  as  possible  and  conduct 
it  into  millraces  and  irrigation  channels,  but  before  I  am 
aware,  an  evil  spirit  turns  the  spigot  and  everything  spurts 
and  gushes"  (to  Frau  von  Stein,  September  14,  1780). 
"An  evil  spirit  abuses  my  separation  from  you,  holds  up  to 
me  the  most  burdensome  phase  of  my  condition  and  advises 
me  to  save  myself  by  flight"  (July  8,  1781).  Merck,  who 
had  been  last  with  him  in  October,  1780,  in  Miihlhausen 
and  had  attempted  to  liberate  him  from  the  galley  of 
office,  he  calls  a  dragon.  Merck  was  so  sure  that  Goethe's 
highfiown  political  plans  would  go  to  pieces  on  the  resist- 
ance of  the  dull  world,  and  that  the  petty  details  that  were 
left  would  not  compensate  him  for  the  tremendous  sacri- 
fice that  he  was  making  of  his  person  and  his  calling  as 
poet,  that  he  did  not  rest  until  he  had  enlisted  Goethe's 
mother  in  an  effort  to  tear  him  away  from  the  accursed 
office.  "At  all  events,"  he  said  to  her,  "you  should  seek 
to  get  him  back  here ;  that  infamous  climate  over  there  is 
certainly  not  good  for  him.  He  has  finished  the  chief 
task.  The  Duke  is  now  as  he  should  be,  some  one  else  can 
do  the  dirty  work  that  remains  to  be  done ;  he  is  too  good 
for  that." 

The  mother  reports  this  to  her  son  and  adds:  "Thou 
must  know  best  what  is  good  for  thee.  As  my  situation 
is  such  now  that  I  am  my  own  lord  and  master  and  hence 
could  unhindered  see  to  it  that  thy  days  were  good  and 
quiet,  thou  canst  easily  imagine  how  much  it  would  pain 
me  if  thou  shouldst  impair  thy  health  and  strength  in  thy 
service."  But  Goethe  remains  firm  even  toward  his  mother. 
He  sums  up  excellently  his  former  and  present  life,  and 
from  these  premises  concludes  the  necessity  and  whole- 
someness  of  remaining  in  his  present  position.  "I  beg 
you  not  to  worry  about  me  and  not  to  be  led  astray  by 
anything.     My  health  is  far  better  than  I  could  expect  or 


358  Zbc  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

hope  for  in  former  days,  and  as  it  is  good  enough  for  me  to 
do  at  least  the  greater  part  of  what  is  incumbent  upon  me, 
I  certainly  have  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  it.  As  for  my 
situation,  it  has,  in  spite  of  its  great  burdens,  very  many 
desirable  features,  the  best  proof  of  which  is  that  I  cannot 
think  of  another  possible  position  to  which  I  should  like 
to  be  transferred  at  present.  To  long  with  hypochondriac 
uneasiness  to  get  out  of  one's  skin  and  into  another  seems 
to  me  not  very  proper.  Merck  and  several  others  judge 
my  position  quite  falsely.  They  see  only  what  I  sacrifice 
and  not  what  I  gain;  they  cannot  understand  that  I  am 
daily  growing  richer  by  daily  giving  so  much.  You  re- 
member the  last  days  that  I  spent  with  you  before  coming 
here.  If  I  had  continued  under  such  conditions,  I  should 
surely  have  come  to  a  bad  end.  The  disproportion  of  the 
narrow,  inert  burgher  circle  to  the  breadth  and  vivacity 
of  my  nature  would  have  driven  me  mad.  In  spite  of  my 
lively  imagination  and  my  spiritual  intuition  of  things  hu- 
man, I  should  have  remained  for  ever  unacquainted  with 
the  world  and  in  a  perpetual  childhood,  which  usually 
becomes  intolerable  to  itself  and  others  because  of  its 
vanity  and  all  related  faults.  How  much  more  fortunate 
it  was  for  me  to  be  placed  in  a  position  of  which  I  was  in  no 
sense  master,  where  through  mistakes  of  ignorance  and 
over-hastiness  I  had  opportunities  enough  to  learn  to 
know  myself  and  others,  where,  left  to  myself  and  my 
fate,  I  passed  through  so  many  trials,  which  may  not  be 
necessary  for  many  hundreds  of  men,  but  which  I  greatly 
needed  for  my  development!  Even  now,  how  could  I 
with  my  nature  desire  a  happier  condition  than  one  which 
has  infinite  possibilities  for  me?  For  even  if  new  capa- 
bilities should  daily  develop  within  me,  my  conceptions 
become  clearer  and  clearer,  my  strength  increase,  my 
knowledge  broaden,  my  judgment  correct  itself,  and  my 
pluck  grow,  still  I  should  daily  find  occasion  to  apply  all 
these  faculties,  both  in  great  things  and  in  small.  You 
see  how  far  I  am  from  the  hypochondriac  discomfort 
which  makes  so   many  discontented  with  their  lot,   and 


tinner  Strugglee  359 

that  only  most  important  considerations  or  very  strange, 
unexpected  developments  could  move  me  to  forsake  my 
post;  furthermore,  at  a  time  when  the  trees  already  planted 
are  beginning  to  grow,  and  one  may  hope  after  the  harvest  to 
separate  the  tares  from  the  wheat,  it  would  be  an  injustice  to 
myself  if  I,  because  of  any  discomfort,  should  run  away  and 
rob  myself  of  shade,  fruit,  and  harvest"  (August  ii,  1781). 

We  observe  that  Goethe  avoids  the  pivotal  point  of 
Merck's  criticism,  the  disproportion  between  his  mind  and 
his  official  duties.  The  crowning  argument,  that  the 
Duke's  education  is  finished,  he  refutes  with  the  stronger 
argument  of  his  own  education. 

So  he  perseveres  in  his  career,  and  with  such  enthu- 
siasm, that,  four  days  later,  rejoicing  over  his  success  in 
the  War  Commission,  he  expresses  the  desire  for  a  much 
more  important  department.  This  wish  is  fulfilled,  as  we 
know,  the  following  summer  by  his  appointment  to  the 
presidency  of  the  Chamber  of  Finance.  In  order  to  lose 
less  time  in  going  to  and  fro,  and  to  devote  himself  more  to 
his  offices,  he  leaves  his  beloved  Gartenhaus  on  the  ist  of 
June  and  moves  into  the  city,  into  the  house  on  the  Frauen- 
plan,  where,  except  for  a  short  interval,  he  resides  for  the 
remainder  of  his  days.  This  was  for  him,  the  friend  of 
nature,  a  great  sacrifice,  however  much  he  sought  to  make 
light  of  it.  But  greater  sacrifices  were  yet  to  come.  His 
calling  began  to  wear  upon  him  and  the  fire  of  his  ideals 
no  longer  maintained  his  strength.  The  delusion  that 
these  heavenly  jewels  could  be  set  in  the  crowns  of  earthly 
princes  had  gradually  forsaken  him.  Nevertheless  he  con- 
tinues to  resist  all  inclinations  to  relieve  himself  of  his 
official  burden  or  even  to  lighten  it.  Even  though  he  no 
longer  sees  in  such  inclinations  the  temptations  of  an  evil 
spirit,  still  he  considers  them  the  outgrowth  of  unmanly 
weakness.  Fate  has  laid  upon  him  a  definite  duty:  this 
duty  must  be  fulfilled,  and  in  its  performance  he  must 
seek  his  happiness.  These  are  the  axioms  upon  which  he 
bases  his  action.  "  I  look  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the 
left,  and  my  old  motto  is  always  copied  above  a  new  office : 


36o  tTbc  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

'Hie  est  aut  nusquam,  quod  qucBrimus.'"  *  These  are  his 
words  to  Knebel  on  the  27th  of  July,  1782.  Two  days 
later  he  writes  to  Lavater:  "Of  myself  I  have  nothing  to 
say  to  thee  except  that  I  am  sacrificing  myself  to  my  calling, 
in  which  I  seek  nothing  as  if  it  were  the  goal  of  my  ideas." 
How  resigned  this  sounds  when  compared  with  his  language 
to  Lavater  two  years  before! 

After  the  assumption  of  the  presidency  of  the  Chamber, 
Goethe  is  so  burdened  with  work  that  he  gives  up  almost 
all  social  intercourse  except  with  Frau  von  Stein.  Inward 
loneliness,  apparent  since  1778,  is  followed  by  outward 
isolation.  Yet  this  is  not  unwelcome  to  him,  and  he 
maintains  his  aloofness  even  when  away  from  Weimar — 
when  he  attends  the  Diet  in  Eisenach,  for  example,  where 
little  business  is  interspersed  with  much  amusement. 
With  his  loneliness  increases  also  his  silence,  a  phenomenon 
wholly  foreign  to  his  nature.  Everybody  complains  of  it; 
even  the  Duke  and  little  Fritz  von  Stein,  whom  he  took 
into  his  house  in  1783.  The  news  of  his  solitary,  quiet  life 
reaches  Frankfort  and  again  disturbs  his  mother.  He 
seeks  to  pacify  her  in  a  letter  of  the  7  th  of  December, 
1783,  the  anniversary  of  the  dangerous  crisis  of  1768,  and 
reminds  her  of  how  she  would  have  rejoiced  at  that  time 
if  any  one  had  prophesied  to  her  his  present  condition. 
"That  a  man  is  made  serious  by  serious  matters  is  natural, 
especially  if  one  is  by  nature  meditative  and  desires  to 
promote  the  good  and  the  right  in  the  world."  He  again 
emphasises  the  fact  that  he  is  well  in  every  respect,  and 
continues:  "Take  pleasure,  I  pray  you,  in  my  present  life, 
even  if  I  should  leave  this  world  before  you.  My  career 
has  not  been  a  disgrace  to  you,  I  leave  behind  good  friends 
and  a  good  name,  and  hence  it  can  be  your  greatest  con- 
solation that  I  do  not  altogether  die."  These  strange, 
melancholy  words  from  the  pen  of  a  man  of  thirty-four 
were  a  stronger  refutation  of  his  arguments  than  all  his 
mother's  amplifications. 

*  Changed  in  Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehrjahre  (vii.,  i)  to,  "Here   or  no- 
where is  America." 


Ifnner  Strugglee  361 

In  the  summer  of  1784  the  term  for  which  Goethe 
agreed  to  imdertake  the  presidency  of  the  Chamber  expired. 
He  had  accomplished  his  immediate  purposes  in  the  estab- 
lishment of  order  and  economy.  The  question  must  again 
have  crept  into  his  mind,  whether  it  was  not  time,  seeing 
that  his  ultimate  aims  vanished  more  and  more  into  the 
clouds,  for  him  to  devote  his  years  and  strength  to  the 
other  high  tasks  of  his  life. 

He  did  not  even  need  to  think  of  his  poetic  projects. 
His  scientific  investigations  had  meanwhile  become  so 
extensive  and  had  resulted  in  such  fruitful  ideas  that  he 
must  have  had  a  most  ardent  desire  to  cultivate  this  intel- 
lectual field  on  a  larger  sale. 

It  was  from  his  official  activity  that  he  had  received 
the  incentive  to  resimie  his  old  hobbies  in  natural  science 
and  transform  them  into  serious  research.  Road-mak- 
ing and  mining  led  him  to  mineralogy  and  geology,  for- 
estry and  agriculture  to  botany,  while  lectures  on  the  human 
figure  at  the  Weimar  School  of  Drawing  occasioned  his 
more  careful  anatomical  studies.  His  first  progress  was  in 
the  mineral  kingdom,  especially  after  the  sojourn  in  Switzer- 
land, where  for  weeks  he  had  every  day  had  rich  material 
for  observation.  "  I  have  given  myself  over  to  this  minera- 
logical  knowledge,"  he  writes  to  Merck  in  October,  1780, 
"with  a  perfect  passion,  because  my  office  justifies  me  in 
doing  so."  He  makes  extensive  collections,  urges  geo- 
logical surveys  of  Thimngia,  the  Harz,  and  the  Rhon,  and 
himself  lends  diligent  assistance,  studying  the  older  geo- 
logical literature,  and  seeking  to  form  clear  ideas  about 
the  constitution  and  formation  of  the  crust  of  the  earth  in 
general,  and  particularly  in  the  Thuringian  Forest  and 
adjoining  regions.  In  this  way  he  discovers  truths  far  in 
advance  of  his  time.  He  undertakes  to  embody  them  in 
a  treatise  on  orology,  of  which  the  chapter  devoted  to  the 
history  of  the  crust's  formation  was,  so  far  as  we  are  able 
to  see,  intended  to  show  that  not  revolutions  interrupting 
regular  development,  but  forces  working  slowly  through 
endless  years  down  to  the  present,  have  brought  forth  the 


362  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

mountains,  and  that  those  geological  strata  not  containing 
petrified  organic  beings  are  older  than  all  others,  while 
the  age  of  those  containing  fossils  must  be  determined 
according  to  the  natural  sequence  of  the  organisms.  Un- 
fortunately nothing  has  been  preserved  of  this  geology 
except  two  small  preparatory  studies,  Fragmente^  uher  den 
Granit. 

Of  greater  significance  were  his  researches  in  the  organic 
field.  As  in  the  inorganic  field,  here  also  he  was  guided  by 
the  idea  of  gradual  transformation  or  development.  He 
would  admit  of  a  gap  nowhere  in  nature.  Both  in  the 
whole  series  of  organisms  and  within  the  individual  organ- 
isms he  searched  for  original  forms,  by  which  the  multi- 
plicity of  phenomena  could  be  explained  by  a  process  of 
evolution.  His  idea  was  verified  first  in  the  case  of  man. 
In  his  anatomical  studies,  which  he  had  been  carry- 
ing on  in  Jena  under  the  direction  of  Loder  since  the 
autumn  of  1781,  he  had  been  disturbed  by  the  theory 
that  the  little  bone  found  between  the  two  halves  of  the 
upper  jaw  in  animals  was  wanting  in  man,  and  that  in  this 
want  consisted  the  real  difference  between  the  skeleton  of 
man  and  that  of  the  ape.  This  theory  was  so  contrary  to 
his  conception  of  nature  that  he  concentrated  his  whole 
attention  upon  it,  till  finally,  in  February,  1784,  after 
examining  a  large  number  of  animal  and  human  skulls 
he  demonstrated  to  a  certainty  that  the  theory  was  based 
on  an  error,  since  the  intermaxillary  was  present  in  man, 
and  was  hard  to  discover  only  because  grown  together 
with  the  adjacent  bones.  Realising  the  significance  of  his 
discovery,  he  experienced  "a  joy  that  moved  his  whole 
being  to  its  depths."  No  less  was  his  joy  when,  in  1786, 
at  the  close  of  a  long  chain  of  observations,  there  dawned 
upon  him  the  great  idea  of  the  metamorphosis  of  plants, 
that  is  to  say,  the  discovery  that  all  organs  of  plants  are 
merely  specialised  leaves.  "  If  I  could  only  communicate 
to  some  one  the  vision  and  the  joy!  but  it  is  impossible. 
It  is  not  a  dream,  not  a  fantasy;  it  is  a  discovery  of  the 
essential  form  with  which  nature,  as  it  were,  ever  plays, 


flnncr  Struoglee  363 

and  in  her  play  produces  the  most  manifold  life.  If  I  had 
time  in  my  short  Hfe  I  believe  I  could  extend  it  to  all  the 
realms  of  nature,  to  her  entire  realm." 

Equally  pure  and  intense  joy  is  felt  in  the  few  spare 
hours  in  which  the  muse  grants  him  poetic  achievement. 

Such  moments  of  artistic  and  scientific  happiness  give 
him  further  a  clear  idea  of  his  true  natural  calling.  "This 
morning  I  finished  the  chapter  in  Wilhelm.  It  gave  me  a 
happy  hour.  Really  I  was  bom  to  be  a  writer."  "How 
much  better  ofT  I  should  be  if  I  were  away  from  the  strife 
of  political  elements  and  could  turn  my  mind  to  the  arts 
and  sciences,  for  which  I  was  bom!  "  "I  had  difficulty  in 
tearing  myself  away  from  Aristotle  and  passing  to  ques- 
tions of  lease  and  pasturage."  "  I  am  just  suited  to  private 
life  and  cannot  understand  why  fate  has  been  pleased  to 
place  me  in  an  administrative  office  and  a  princely  family." 
These  are  utterances  from  the  year  1782.  Nevertheless  he 
still  hardens  his  heart  against  these  clear  calls  from  within. 

It  is  only  after  he  has  fully  discharged  his  duty  as 
president  of  the  Chamber  that  his  exaggerated  feeling  of 
official  obligation  disappears,  and  he  begins  to  think  of 
himself.  "  I  can  and  will  no  longer  bury  my  talent."  But 
the  moment  this  thought  comes  to  him,  a  desire  which  he 
once  before  entertained  must  again  arise  within  him, — the 
desire  that  through  a  long  absence  from  Weimar  he  may 
find  the  way  back  to  himself  and  be  partly  or  wholly 
reHeved  of  the  duties  of  office.  But  he  is  still  bound  by 
strong  cords. 

©eroiB,  id)  tinirc  fcf)on  fo  fcrne,  feme, 
Soroeit  bie  3Sc(t  niir  offcn  licgt,  flcganqen, 
^Bei^roiingen  midi  nid)t  iibemtadjt'i^c  Stcnic, 
"^k  mctn  @eid)icf  nn  beineg  angeliangcn. 
^a^  id)  in  bir  nun  crft  mic^  fenncn  lernc, 
9)fein  ^id)ten,  Irac^ten,  .$>offen  iinb  "ijvcr'augcn 
5l[Iein  m6)  bir  iinb  bcinem  3Se[cn  brdngt, 
Wdn  ^ebcn  niir  an  beinem  Sebcn  l)an9t!  * 

*  I  should  have  journeyed  far  ere  this — ^indeed, 
As  far  as  e'er  the  wide  world  open  lies, 


364  Z\)C  life  of  (Boetbe 

These  verses  to  Frau  von  Stein  were  composed  in 
August,  1784,  However,  it  was  not  merely  love  for  her, 
as  he  here  says,  but  also  love  for  the  Duke  and  the  country, 
that  would  not  let  him  go.  The  Duke  had  become  more 
deeply  involved  than  seemed  advisable  to  Goethe  in  the 
politics  of  the  federation  of  princes,  which  was  already 
Prussian  in  sympathy.  The  same  autumn  he  had  under- 
taken in  its  behalf  a  journey  of  several  months  to  the 
Rhenish  courts.  It  could  not  be  foreseen  whether  or  not 
Karl  August,  if  left  to  himself,  might  not  in  his  fiery  zeal 
and  with  his  military  inclinations,  drag  the  country  into 
a  politically  and  financially  dangerous  situation.  Hence 
Goethe  could  not  leave  his  post  till  he  had  the  assurance 
of  certainty  concerning  the  issue.  Things  dragged  along. 
The  year  1784  and  the  year  1785  came  to  an  end,  and  still 
there  was  no  definite  decision.  Under  such  conditions  the 
continuation  of  his  ojfficial  activity  must  have  become 
more  and  more  burdensome  to  him.  "  Given  from  the 
wheel  of  Ixion,"  he  writes  on  the  20th  of  February,  1785. 
"  I  am  patching  at  the  beggar's  mantle  which  is  about  to 
fall  from  my  shoulders,"  he  writes  to  Knebel  on  the  5th  of 
May.  Fortunately  his  love  for  Frau  von  Stein  is  still  a 
"life-preserver  that  holds  his  head  above  water."  When 
he  works  or  chats  with  her  a  few  hours  in  the  evening  the 
iron  fetters  about  his  soul  are  loosened.  Finally,  in  August, 
1785,  even  this  alleviating  remedy  is  withheld  from  him, 
when  Herr  von  Stein,  excluded  from  the  Court  table,  begins 
to  live  at  home. 

In  whatever  direction  Goethe  now  looked,  everything 
was  calculated  to  make  him  most  profoundly  dissatisfied. 

His  literary  works  resembled  a  great  field  of  ruins. 
Faust,  Egmont,  Elpenor,  Tasso,  Wilhelm  Meisier,  Die  Ge- 
heimnisse  lay  about  him  in  fragments;    not  to  mention 

Had  the  o'erruling  stars  but  so  decreed, 

That  bound  my  fate  to  thine  in  wondrous  wise. 

That  I  in  thee  myself  at  last  may  read, 

My  fancies,  longings,  hopes,  desires,  and  sighs 

Do  all  to  thee  and  to  thy  presence  throng; 

Nought  but  thy  life  can  life  in  me  prolong. 


Unner  Struggles  365 

other  older  or  more  recent  conceptions,  such  as  Prometheus, 
Cdsar,  Der  ewige  Jude,  Der  Falke,  and  the  novel,  Uber  das 
Weltall.  Even  Iphigenie,  the  only  great  composition  which 
he  had  completed  in  the  years  1776-1786,  seemed  to  him 
so  imperfect  that  he  was  determined  to  reject  its  present 
form.  Not  only  did  his  poetical  creations  present  such  a 
disconsolate  appearance, — he  himself  did  not  even  know 
whether  or  not  his  creative  power  had  suffered  irreparable 
injury  from  the  long  neglect. 

His  scientific  work,  apart  from  the  short  paper  on  the 
intermaxillary,  had  not  advanced  beyond  the  embryonic 
stage.  His  head  surged  with  great  ideas  concerning  all  the 
realms  of  nature,  but  where  should  he  gain  the  time  to 
demonstrate  them  to  be  scientific  facts,  and  present  his 
discoveries  in  writing? 

His  relation  to  Frau  von  Stein,  formerly  a  source  of 
comfort,  had  now  become  a  source  of  pain.  The  very  cir- 
cumstance that  Herr  von  Stein  had  been  restored  to  his 
home  had  opened  Goethe's  eyes  to  the  unnatural  basis  of  his 
own  position.  In  whatever  light  and  from  whatever  stand- 
point he  considered  the  matter,  the  thought  that  he  did  not 
possess  the  woman  he  loved  fretted  him  and  consumed  him. 

His  health  was  dangerously  undermined  by  too  great  a 
burden  of  business.  We  have  a  picture  of  him  from  the 
year  1785,  when  he  for  the  first  time  visited  a  watering- 
place  for  the  sake  of  his  health,  and  it  shows  a  wrinkled 
and  care-worn  face.  Wieland  had  already  complained  to 
Merck  that  it  was  only  too  plain  that  Goethe  was  sufifering 
in  body  and  soul  under  the  oppressive  burden  which  he  had 
assumed  "for  our  best  interests."  Schiller  learned  in  1787 
that  broken  health  had  necessitated  Goethe's  journey  to 
Italy.  Even  the  climate,  never  very  salubrious  for  him, 
now  became  quite  intolerable.  "Under  this  brazen  sky!" 
he  complains,  gnashing  his  teeth. 

From  his  office  he  learns  the  final  word  of  wisdom: 
"  Whoever  devotes  himself  to  governmental  administration, 
without  being  the  sovereign,  must  be  either  a  PhiHstine,  or 
a  rascal,  or  a  fool." 


366  Zhc  %\tc  Of  (Boetbe 

Under  the  pressure  of  this  completely  unsatisfactory, 
painful,  harrowing  situation  he  experiences  a  second  and 
more  violent  Werther  crisis.  "  I  find  that  the  author  [of 
Werther]  did  wrong  not  to  shoot  himself  after  having  fin- 
ished the  novel,"  is  his  bitter  remark  in  Jime,  1786;  and  in 
May  of  the  following  year,  after  having  been  away  from 
Weimar  for  many  months,  he  says,  "  I  should  have  pre- 
ferred death  to  a  life  such  as  I  lived  during  those  few  years." 

The  thought  of  rescue  by  flight  becomes  a  firm  deter- 
mination. No  consultations  about  the  how,  whither,  how 
long — a  sudden  disappearance  seemed  to  him  the  only  siire 
way  of  escape.  Whither  he  should  go,  there  could  be  no 
doubt,  for  with  the  aggravation  of  his  condition  in  Weimar 
his  longing  for  Italy  had  become  intensified  beyond  meas- 
ure. "For  several  years  I  have  not  dared  look  at  a  Latin 
author,  or  touch  anything  that  brought  up  a  picture  of 
Italy,  without  suffering  the  most  terrible  pain."  "The 
goal  of  my  most  cherished  longing,  which  filled  my  whole 
soul  with  anguish,  was  Italy."  This  longing  is  echoed  in 
the  pathetic  words  of  Mignon.  He,  too,  dared  not  delay 
much  longer.  Whether  Europe  would  enjoy  a  few  more 
years  of  peace  seemed  to  him  very  questionable.  The  fam- 
ous diamond  necklace  intrigue,*  which  became  known  in 
the  autumn  of  1785,  had  made  a  terrible  impression  upon 
him.  In  the  base  immorality  which  it  revealed  in  city, 
court,  and  state,  he  foresaw  immediately  what  horrible 
developments  were  in  store  for  the  future.  His  eyes  were 
so  riveted  upon  uncanny  visions  that  for  several  days  it 
seemed  to  his  friends,  who  did  not  know  what  was  going 
on  within  him,  that  he  was  crazy. 

Under  such  circumstances  it  was  a  happy  turn  of  for- 
tune that  in  the  summer  of  1786  the  way  was  finally 
prepared  for  flight.  The  Duke  had  finally  joined  the  fed- 
eration, with  the  necessary  reservations.  This  determined 
the  course  of  his  foreign  policy.  Furthermore,  the  strained 
relations  within  the  German  Empire  were  relieved  by  the 

*  For  an  account  of  the  Affaire  du  collier,  see  Carlyle,  The  Diamond 
Necklace. 


Ilnner  StruoGles  367 

withdrawal  of  the  Austrian  claims.  So  far  as  internal 
administration  was  concerned,  Goethe  had  everything  so 
carefully  arranged  that  for  the  present  he  could  safely  trust 
his  business  to  other  hands.  "  Indeed,  I  might  die,  it 
would  not  create  any  disturbance," 

Consequently  he  could  venture  upon  his  hegira  with  a 
good  conscience.  He  proceeded  first  to  Karlsbad,  where 
he  met  the  Duke,  Herder,  and  Frau  von  Stein,  and  felt  his 
spirit  refreshed  and  uplifted  in  their  society.  The  first  to 
leave  the  circle  was  Frau  von  Stein;  Goethe  accompanied 
her  as  far  as  Schneeberg  in  the  Erzgebirge,  and  then  re- 
turned to  Karlsbad.  On  the  27th  of  August  Karl  August 
left  the  watering-place;  on  the  28th  Goethe's  birthday  was 
celebrated  among  his  friends  with  merry  festivities.  In  the 
midst  of  social  distractions  he  had  worked  at  the  new  edi- 
tion of  his  writings.  On  the  2nd  of  September  he  wrote  to 
the  Duke,  Herder,  and  Frau  von  Stein,  telling  them  of  his 
plan  to  enter  upon  a  journey  immediately,  but  saying  no- 
thing of  whither  he  was  going  or  how  long  he  expected  to 
be  gone.  His  last  words,  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
were  to  Frau  von  Stein:  "At  last,  at  last  I  am  ready,  and 
yet  not  ready.  For  in  reality  I  have  another  week's  work 
here,  but  I  desire  to  get  away,  and  so  I  bid  thee  once  more 
adieu.  Farewell,  sweetheart,  I  am  thine."  At  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  he  "steals  away"  from  Karlsbad  in 
the  diligence,  and  rolls  away  toward  the  south. 

The  fugitive  left  behind  him  in  Weimar  most  glorious 
memories.  Such  pure  devotion  of  strength  and  will  could 
not  fail  of  profound  recognition,  even  if  the  results  were 
not  commensurate  with  his  purposes  and  efforts.  When 
Schiller  was  in  Weimar  the  following  summer  he  heard 
Goethe's  name  "mentioned  by  a  very  great  number  of 
people  with  something  akin  to  adoration." 


XXVI 

ITALY 

Goethe  unspeakably  happy  to  be  free — Mad  haste  to  reach  Italy,  for  fear 
he  may  be  called  back — Route  taken — Feelings  on  entering  Italy 
— Chief  interest  in  works  of  antiquity — Completely  Italianised  in 
Verona — Vicenza — Enraptured  with  Palladio — Desire  to  share  in 
the  lives  of  men — Padua — Venice — The  sea — Outburst  of  hostility 
toward  the  Gothic — Palladio  again — Goethe  cares  for  no  art  but 
the  antique  and  its  best  reflections  in  the  Renaissance — Feverish 
longing  to  be  in  Rome — Three  days  in  Bologna — Three  hours  in 
Florence — Rome  at  last — First  impressions — New  Ufe — Study  of 
the  antique — Michael  Angelo — Raphael — Elements  of  the  antique 
that  please  Goethe — His  incognito — Tischbein  and  other  friends — 
Frau  von  Stein's  feelings  concerning  Goethe's  flight — Goethe's 
diary,  written  for  her,  but  not  sent  for  months — Her  scathing  re- 
proof— Painful  situation — Peace  restored — Absorbed  in  study  of 
antique  art — Journey  to  Naples — Enjoyment  of  life  and  nature — 
Ascents  of  Vesuvius  during  eruptions — Paestum — Tour  of  Sicily — 
Dramatic  scene  on  rettun  voyage — Study  of  common  people  in 
Naples — In  Rome  again — Supreme  happiness — Art  studies,  and 
discoveries  as  to  his  own  talents — Study  of  music  with  Kayser — 
Maddalena  Riggi — Faustina — Sad  farewell  to  Rome — Florence — 
Parma — Milan — Return  to  Weimar — Significance  of  the  Italian 
journey — Clear  consciousness  of  his  true  calling — Complete  har- 
mony of  his  nature — Literary  work — Seraphic  tendency  overcome 
— Poetry  of  humanity  in  its  totality — The  thirteenth  Romische 
Elegie — Master  of  style — The  typical — Plasticity — True  art. 

AN  inexpressible  feeling  of  delight  coursed  through 
Goethe's  veins  when  he  was  rid  of  all  fetters  and 
speeding  away  toward  the  goal  of  his  longing.  So 
light-hearted  and  free,  so  happy,  we  have  not  seen  him  since 
his  journey  along  the  Rhine  in  1774.  He  flees  from  the 
fatherland  in  great  haste,  as  though  he  might  be  stopped 
on  the  way  and  compelled  to  return  to  Weimar.  In  order 
to  feel  perfectly  safe  he  keeps  his  route  a  secret  from  every 

368 


fltalp  369 

one  save  his  secretary,  Seidel,  and  makes  his  incognito  the 
more  secure  by  crossing  the  Alps  under  the  assumed  name  of 
Johann  Philipp  Moller.  After  thirty-one  hours  of  uninter- 
rupted travel  he  arrives  in  Ratisbon,  where  he  spends  a  day. 
Then  he  travels  a  half -day  and  a  night,  makes  a  flying  visit 
to  Munich,  and  hastens  on  to  Innsbruck. 

When  he  catches  the  first  glimpse  of  snow-capped  peaks 
he  reverently  bares  his  head  and  greets  them.  The  desire 
soon  to  have  as  many  miles  as  possible  between  him  and 
Weimar  is  accompanied  by  an  impatient  yearning  for  Italy. 
True,  he  is  drawn  aside  to  Salzburg,  to  the  valley  of  the 
Ziller,  the  mines  of  Schwaz,  and  the  salt-works  of  Hall; 
but  he  continues  his  journey  by  the  shortest  road  and  sup- 
presses every  further  impulse  to  turn  aside.  "What  do  I 
not  neglect  for  the  sake  of  carrying  out  the  one  thought 
which  has  almost  grown  too  old  in  my  soul!"  He  is  espe- 
cially pleased  with  the  situation  of  Innsbruck.  "  I  wanted 
to  stay  there  to-day,"  he  writes  on  the  8th  of  September, 
"  but  I  had  no  rest  within  me."  Hence  he  tarries  only  three 
hours  and  then  drives  on  up  to  the  Brenner.  There  he 
rests  a  night  and  a  day.  "Up  here  in  a  well-built,  clean, 
comfortable  house,  I  look  back  once  more  to  thee,"  he 
remarks  in  the  diary  intended  for  Frau  von  Stein.  "  From 
here  the  waters  flow  toward  Germany  and  toward  Italy,  I 
hope  to  proceed  in  the  latter  direction  to-morrow.  How 
strange  that  twice  before  I  stood  on  such  a  spot,  rested,  but 
did  not  cross  over!  Even  now  I  shall  not  believe  it,  until 
I  am  down  there," 

Late  in  the  evening  he  resumes  his  journey.  The  car- 
riage descends  at  full  speed.  Sorry  as  he  is  to  traverse  this 
remarkable  region  with  "terrible  rapidity"  and  at  night, 
like  an  owl,  nevertheless  he  rejoices  at  the  mad  rush  of  air 
in  his  wake,  as  he  speeds  toward  the  realisation  of  his 
dreams.  At  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  arrives  in 
Bozen,  just  in  time  for  the  fair ;  he  would  like  to  look  about 
a  Httle,  but  "the  impulse  and  the  unrest  which  pursue 
him"  will  not  let  him  delay,  and  so  he  journeys  on  through 
the  day  as  far  as  Trent. 

VOL.    I. 24. 


370  Zbc  Xite  ot  (5oetbe 

Here  he  feels  the  first  breath  of  Italian  atmosphere: 
luxuriant  vegetation,  warm  air,  gay  life  of  the  people. 
How  well  he  feels  and  how  much  at  home!  "Everything 
is  planted  so  promiscuously  that  it  seems  as  if  one  thing 
must  smother  another.  Vine-trelhses,  maize,  buckwheat, 
mulberry  trees,  fruit  trees,  walnut  trees,  and  quince  trees. 
The  people  wandering  about  remind  one  of  the 
dearest  pictures :  the  tied-up  braids  of  the  women,  the  bare 
chests  and  light  jackets  of  the  men,  the  splendid  oxen 
which  they  drive  home  from  market,  the  sumpter  asses. 

.  .  And  now,  when  in  the  mild  air  of  evening  the  few 
clouds  rest  on  the  mountains,  standing  still  rather  than 
drifting,  and  immediately  after  simset  the  shrill  sound  of 
the  locust  begins  to  be  heard,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  had 
been  bom  and  reared  here  and  were  just  returning  from  a 
whaling  voyage  to  Greenland.  I  welcome  everything,  even 
the  dust  of  the  'fatherland,'  which  often  gets  deep  on  the 
roads,  and  of  which  I  have  seen  nothing  for  so  long."  "  If 
any  one  who  Hves  in  the  south  were  to  read  this,"  he  con- 
tinues, "he  would  consider  me  very  childish.  Ah!  what  I 
here  write  I  have  long  known,  since  I  have  been  suffering 
with  thee  under  an  evil  sky,  and  now  I  am  glad  to  feel  this 
pleasure,  by  way  of  exception,  which  we  should  enjoy  as 
one  of  the  eternal  blessings  of  nature."  He  is  also  happy 
that  he  has  no  servant  or  guide  with  him.  "  By  being 
waited  on  continually  one  becomes  prematurely  old  and 
decrepit.  ,  .  .  Every  beggar  shows  me  the  way,  and 
I  speak  with  the  people  I  meet  as  if  we  had  known  each 
other  for  a  long  time." 

But  Trent  is  not  his  abiding-place.  He  is  still  on  im- 
perial soil  and  the  political  environment  influences  his 
mood.  After  one  day's  stay  he  departs,  passing  through 
Roveredo  on  his  way  to  Lake  Garda,  whose  beauty  charms 
him  but  cannot  hold  him  fast.  He  rows  along  both  shores 
almost  their  entire  length  and  lands  at  Bardolino,  where  he 
takes  a  carriage  for  Verona.  He  arrives  at  one  o'clock  on 
the  14th  of  September,  an  extremely  hot  day.  He  is  now 
on  the  soil  of  ancient  Italy.     "Yes,  my  beloved,   I  have 


Utalp  371 

finally  arrived  here,  here  where  I  should  have  been  long 
ago;  many  of  the  hard  places  in  my  life  would  have  been 
made  easier,"  He  now  becomes  calm,  and  gives  himself 
up  to  the  gentle  influence  of  his  surroundings. 

He  is  most  absorbed  in  the  monuments  of  antiquity, 
the  Arena,  and  the  smaller  works  of  art  in  the  Museo  Lapi- 
dario,  especially  the  reliefs  and  architectural  fragments. 
Even  in  the  inferior  things  he  recognises  a  glorious  epoch. 
The  gravestone  reliefs  with  their  simple,  touching  repre- 
sentations move  him  to  tears.  "The  breeze  which  is 
wafted  from  the  tombs  of  the  ancients  comes  laden  with 
fragrance,  as  if  it  crossed  a  mound  of  roses."  "Here  are 
no  armoured  knights  on  their  knees  awaiting  a  happy 
resurrection:  here  the  artist  has  simply  portrayed  the 
every-day  Ufe  of  men.  They  do  not  fold  their  hands,  they 
do  not  look  up  toward  heaven:  they  are  what  they  were, 
they  stand  together,  they  take  an  interest  in  each  other, 
they  love  one  another."  Of  modem  works  it  is  the  pic- 
tures that  attract  him.  What  Verona  has  to  offer  is  no- 
thing of  great  importance,  yet  he  is  pleased  to  discover  that 
even  the  stars  of  second  and  third  magnitude,  which  are 
hardly  known  by  name  at  a  distance,  here  begin  to  glitter, 
and  it  is  they  that  make  the  artistic  firmament  of  Italy  so 
vast  and  rich.  The  Gothic  tombs  of  the  Scaligers,  on  the 
other  hand,  and  the  churches  of  every  style  (among  them 
the  beautiful  Romanesque  San  Zeno)  leave  him  cold. 

Goethe  becomes  completely  Italianised  in  Verona.  In 
Roveredo  he  had  been  highly  pleased  that  he  no  longer  f  oimd 
any  one  who  imderstood  German,  so  that  he  was  obliged  to 
speak  Italian,  "the  beloved  language";  here  he  puts  on 
Italian  dress  and  learns  the  Italian's  peculiar  gestures  and 
movements.  He  desires  that  he  shall  nowhere  be  recog- 
nised as  a  northern  bear ;  he  wants  to  associate  with  Italians 
as  an  Italian.  Probably  no  traveller  from  the  north  has 
ever  embraced  Italian  life  with  greater  enthusiasm. 

In  this  state  of  delight  everything  seems  to  him  beau- 
tiful, agreeable,  good;  even  obnoxious  things  his  humour 
renders  tolerable,  if  not  agreeable.     Everything  northern, 


372  ^be  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

on  the  other  hand,  is  gloomy  and  unrefreshing  to  him. 
Especially  is  he  imable  to  rid  himself  of  the  idea  that  at 
home  the  sky  is  always  overhung  with  clouds  and  im- 
prisons men  in  the  cold  and  darkness.  He  recurs  to  this 
thought  continually.  After  a  rain  he  sees  clouds  hanging 
on  the  Alps.  "Now  that  is  all  drifting  to  the  north  and 
will  make  your  days  dark  and  cold."  Again:  "  We  Cimmer- 
ians in  the  eternal  mist  and  gloom  scarcely  know  what  day 
is  like,  and  it  is  all  the  same  to  us  whether  it  is  day  or 
night ;  for  what  hour  can  we  enjoy  out  under  the  open  sky?" 
And  so  he  continues  in  the  same  tone,  as  if  he  had  really 
just  returned  from  Greenland. 

After  a  sojourn  of  five  days  he  leaves  Verona  and  moves 
on  to  Vicenza.  In  Vicenza  there  is  little  or  nothing  beside 
the  structures  of  Palladio.  These  almost  overwhelm  him. 
In  the  free,  noble  application  of  antique  architectural  ele- 
ments and  designs,  such  as  are  seen  to  best  advantage  in 
the  Basilica  (the  old  Palazzo  della  Ragione)  and  the  Teatro 
Olimpico,  he  finds  something  divine,  something  truly  poeti- 
cal. He  revels  in  them  every  day  and  cannot  leave  them. 
He  remains  seven  full  days  in  the  city  to  which  the  traveller 
usually  devotes  as  many  hours.  Aside  from  the  architect- 
ure of  Palladio  he  is  so  entranced  by  the  city's  lovely  situa- 
tion amid  richly  cultivated  hills,  which,  with  their  gentle 
lines,  lead  the  eye  away  to  the  Alps,  that  he  proposes  to 
make  it  the  home  of  Mignon,  and  cannot  suppress  the  wish 
some  day  to  live  here  with  Frau  von  Stein.  "But,"  he 
adds  with  a  sigh,  "we  are  for  ever  banished  from  it;  if  one 
wished  to  live  here  one  would  have  to  turn  Catholic  im- 
mediately in  order  to  have  any  share  in  the  lives  of  men." 

To  share  in  the  lives  of  men  by  mingling  with  them  and 
living  with  them  as  an  equal  was  the  need  he  felt  most 
keenly  since  he  had  doffed  the  coat  of  a  privy  councillor. 
As  on  the  road,  so  also  in  Vicenza  he  seeks  to  satisfy  this 
need  as  far  as  possible,  and  we  are  reminded  of  Wetzlar 
ways  when  we  see  him  going  among  the  people  in  the 
market-place,  chatting  with  them,  plying  them  with  ques- 
tions, amusing  himself  with  the  children,  etc.     These  ex- 


Utali?  373 

periences  bring  him  to  a  realisation  of  what  he  has  missed 
in  Weimar:  "What  miserable,  lonesome  creatures  we  have 
to  be  in  the  small  sovereign  states,  where  a  man,  especially 
in  my  position,  is  permitted  to  converse  with  almost  no  one 
who  has  not  some  petition  to  present."  Reluctantly  he 
leaves  the  friendly  city,  where  he  has  enjoyed  the  further 
pleasure  of  working  at  his  Iphigenie. 

He  makes  a  much  shorter  stay  in  the  larger  city  of 
Padua,  where  little  interests  him  apart  from  the  excellent 
pictures  by  Mantegna.  The  church  of  S.  Antonio  he  justly 
considers  barbarous ;  the  angular  spirituality  of  the  frescos 
by  Giotto  in  this  church,  at  that  time  well  preserved,  and 
of  those  so  much  admired  nowadays  in  the  Madonna  dell' 
Arena,  affords  no  real  pleasure  to  the  poet,  who  longs  for 
brilliant  colouring,  and  noble  form,  and  roundness;  and 
Donatello's  great  equestrian  statue  of  Gattamelata  he 
passes  by  in  silence  as  ungreek.  On  the  other  hand,  he  is 
delighted  w^ith  a  fan  palm  in  the  Botanical  Garden  (now 
called  in  his  honour  Palma  di  Goethe) ,  which  in  the  various 
stages  in  the  development  of  its  separate  parts  offers  a 
fine  verification  of  his  botanical  ideas. 

After  a  stay  of  forty-eight  hours  he  took  a  boat  down  the 
Brenta  and  arrived  in  Venice,^^  the  Queen  of  the  Adriatic, 
on  the  afternoon  of  September  28th.  As  his  boat  sailed 
into  the  wonderful  island  city  which  had  played  such  a 
role  in  his  fancy  since  early  youth,  his  soul  was  filled  with 
solemn  awe.  "  Now%  God  be  thanked,  Venice  is  no  longer 
to  me  the  mere  word,  the  hollow  name,  which  has  so  often 
tormented  me,  me,  the  mortal  enemy  of  empty  w^ords." 

Venice  was  on  the  decHne,  but  her  splendour  was  still 
great  enough  to  make  an  indelible  impression  upon  the 
traveller.  Her  dominion  extended  from  Lake  Como  to 
Istria,  and  embraced  the  Ionian  Islands;  among  the  cities 
subject  to  her  were  Bergamo,  Brescia,  Verona,  Vicenza, 
and  Padua.  She  still  possessed  an  imposing  fleet  of  war 
and  commercial  vessels,  and  a  stately  arsenal.  Although 
her  commerce  with  Asia  and  Northern  Europe  had  ceased, 
she  had  still  a  considerable  trade  with  the  Mediterranean 


374  ^be  Xlte  of  6octbe 

countries.  Everything  that  was  brought  to  Venice  came 
by  ship  and  mostly  across  the  sea,  for  the  railroad  had  not 
yet  come  to  divert  commerce  to  the  land  and  transform 
Venice  into  a  continental  city.  There  were  still  to  be  found 
within  her  precincts  a  numerous  nobility,  representatives 
of  independent  states,  ambassadors,  and  agents  of  every 
nation.  Hence  on  the  city's  water-streets  the  traffic  was 
entirely  different  from  that  of  to-day.  Whereas  nowadays 
only  a  few  freight  boats  and  a  few  gondolas  with  tourist 
passengers  glide  through  the  canals,  then  there  were  swarms 
of  vessels,  large  as  well  as  small,  and  plain  and  ornamental 
barques  of  every  description.  The  life  of  the  people  still 
possessed  a  peculiar  importance  and  independence,  for 
justice  was  still  meted  out  in  public  squares,  the  notary 
still  drew  up  public  documents  for  everybody,  the  gon- 
dolier still  sang  from  Tasso,  and  the  ancient  rhapsodist 
still  lived  in  the  guise  of  the  public  story-teller.  There  was 
a  busy,  noisy  throng  from  midnight  to  midnight,  and  each 
man  felt  and  asserted  his  own  importance — a  double  at- 
traction for  our  poet,  accustomed  to  a  sleepy  inland  city, 
where  everybody  did  obeisance  to  the  sovereign  and  the 
official.  And  yet  the  republic  was  not  lacking  in  princely 
splendour.  To  be  sure,  the  Doge  was  no  longer  the  auto- 
cratic ruler  of  the  sea,  but  he  preserved  his  glorifying  pomp ; 
and  when  on  solemn  occasions  he,  with  his  attendants, 
slowly  approached  the  land  in  gilded  barques,  awaited  on 
the  shore  by  the  clergy  and  monastic  orders  with  lighted 
candles,  and  when  over  carpeted  bridges  first  the  savii  dis- 
embarked in  long  violet  robes,  then  the  senators  in  long 
red  robes,  and  when  the  Doge  himself  followed  in  his  golden 
Phrygian  cap,  long  golden  robe,  and  ermine  mantle,  with 
three  pages  carrying  his  train,  while  fifty  nobles  in  dark 
red  cloaks  brought  up  the  rear,  this  was  a  sight  by  the  side 
of  which  corresponding  scenes  in  Germany  were  but  shabby, 
distorted  imitations.  "With  us,"  jestingly  remarks  the 
poet,  who  had  seen  sucli  a  pageant,  "  the  greatest  festivities 
that  one  can  imagine  are  celebrated  in  short  coats  and  with 
guns  on  our  shoulders." 


fltal^  375 

These  brilliant  processions  occurred  within  the  con- 
fines of  a  city  every  foot  of  which  had  been  reclaimed  from 
the  sea,  and  for  the  building  of  which  every  tile,  every 
stone,  every  timber  had  been  brought  from  miles  away, 
and  for  the  preservation  of  which  care  and  diligence  had 
to  be  exercised  year  in  and  year  out.  In  spite  of  these 
difficulties  the  determined  Venetians  had  not  been  satisfied 
with  sheltering  their  persons  and  their  wares  within  bare, 
serviceable  walls;  they  had  created  an  unheard-of  wealth 
of  splendid  palaces  and  churches,  which  even  to-day  are 
the  wonder  of  travellers  from  the  north.  The  poet,  who  ob- 
served all  this  with  an  attentive  eye,  felt  a  profound  respect 
for  the  beaver  republic  and,  as  on  a  former  occasion  in  the 
canton  of  Bern,  here  also  the  democratic  instincts  of  his 
nature  were  stirred.  "  It  is  a  great  work  of  united  human 
strength,  a  glorious  monument,  not  of  a  ruler,  but  of  a 
people.  And  even  if  their  lagoons  are  filling  up,  their  com- 
merce is  on  the  decline,  and  their  might  has  fallen,  this 
does  not  render  the  organisation  and  nature  of  the  republic 
a  whit  less  venerable." 

He  takes  pains  to  investigate  this  great  life  in  all  its 
phases;  roams  about  through  the  tangle  of  streets  and 
canals,  studies  the  palaces  and  churches,  the  pictures  and 
sculptures,  inspects  the  wharv^es  and  sea-walls,  attends  the 
many  theatres,  and  obser\^es  the  people  in  all  their  activ- 
ities, in  every  quarter,  and  at  every  hour  of  the  day. 

The  sea,  which  he  here  beholds  for  the  first  time,  makes 
a  deep  impression  upon  him.  But  he  is  not  satisfied  with 
mere  esthetic  enjoyment  of  the  boundless  expanse  of  water 
pulsating  with  rhythmical  wave-beats ;  he  immediately  turns 
his  attention  to  the  peculiar  qualities  of  the  strand  flora 
and  the  lower  forms  of  marine  animals;  and  he  is  glad 
that  so  many  things  now  become  to  him  a  part  of  nature 
which  have  hitherto  been  only  museum  curios. 

It  was  a  rich  fund  of  significant,  interesting,  and  in- 
structive impressions  that  Goethe  received  from  the  re- 
markable city.  But  the  works  of  Palladio  triumphed 
over  all. 


376  Zhc  Xife  of  6oetbe 

Palladio!  Palladiol  comes  the  echo  over  and  over 
from  the  pages  of  the  chapter  on  Venice  in  his  diary.  He 
passes  by  a  himdred  great  and  beautiful  things,  such  as 
the  Titians'6  jn  SS.  Giovanni  e  Paolo  and  the  Frari,  and 
the  Library  of  Sansovino,  or  refers  to  them  briefly,  such 
as  the  treasures  in  the  Doge's  Palace ;  whereas  he  is  always 
going  into  ecstasies  over  Palladio. 

Goethe's  development  before  the  Italian  journey  had  pre- 
pared the  way  for  the  overwhelming  influence  of  Palladio. 
In  Strasburg  two  flowers  sprang  up  out  of  the  soil  of  Goethe's 
conception  of  art.  The  one,  his  enthusiasm  for  the  Gothic, 
shot  up  to  a  great  height,  but  soon  withered  away;  the 
other,  his  love  for  Raphael  and  the  antique,  standing  mod- 
estly beside  it,  grew  up  slowly  but  steadily.  The  antique 
ruins  in  Niederbronn  and  the  plaster  casts  in  Mannheim, 
together  with  Homer  and  Pindar,  had  sufficed  to  raise 
the  antique  far  above  the  Gothic  in  his  estimation.  He 
peopled  his  room  in  Frankfort  with  statues  of  the  Greek 
gods,  and  supplemented  his  collection  with  etchings  of  the 
most  important  works  of  antiquity.  The  more  he  in- 
wardly drifted  away  from  the  Storm-and-Stress  period, 
the  more  also  from  the  Gothic,  which  doubtless  became 
to  him  in  time  a  symbol  of  the  movement — heaven-storm- 
ing confusion,  Iphigenie  supplants  Gotz.  In  Weimar  we 
no  longer  hear  Goethe  speak  of  the  once  so  proudly  boasted 
"German"  architecture.  On  the  other  hand,  he  adds 
further  to  his  collection  of  casts  of  antique  sculptures,  and 
makes  drawings  of  antique  orders  of  columns.  The  teach- 
ings of  Winckelmann  and  Oeser  are  again  revived.  Goethe's 
whole  being  strives  after  great,  noble  beauty.  But  he  can 
find  it  only  in  truth,  and  truth  manifests  itself  to  him  only 
in  simplicity,  as  is  the  case  in  nature.  In  this  way  he 
returns  to  noble  simplicity  and  quiet  greatness  as  the 
highest  qualities  of  the  beautiful.  True,  he  saw  in  the 
Gothic  pillar  and  pointed  arch  both  greatness  and  beauty, 
but  if  we  take  the  church  as  the  complete  expression  of 
Gothic  art,  the  ensemble  lacked  repose  within,  and,  without, 
not  merely  repose,  but  simplicity  and  truth  as  well.     Pillar 


Iltali?  377 

and  arch  strove  restlessly,  endlessly  upward,  and  lack  of 
repose  was  increased  without  by  the  pointed  towers  which 
crowned  the  fagade,  and  the  wilderness  of  ornamentation 
which  enveloped  the  body  and  sought  to  achieve  the  great 
by  a  multiplication  of  the  small."  This  ornamentation  was 
not  merely  the  opposite  of  simplicity  and  repose,  but,  like 
the  towers,  was  wholly  lacking  in  organic  necessity,  that 
is,  in  truth;  indeed  it  was  not  infrequently  a  structural 
absurdity.  Thus  Gothic  art  was  offensive  to  Goethe's 
feelings,  which  demanded  quiet  beauty,  great  in  its  sim- 
plicity, and  to  his  understanding,  which  demanded  con- 
structive harmony  and  regularity.  Both  he  found  nowhere 
but  in  the  Greek  style,  which  at  the  same  time  breathed 
an  air  of  cheerfulness  that  was  an  extraordinary  tonic  to 
the  serious  soul  of  the  poet,  who  had  suffered  so  much 
martyrdom  in  Weimar.  But  how  should  he  harmonise 
Greek  style  with  modem  demands?  A  simple  revival 
such  as  was  often  practised  could  not  satisfy  an  artistic 
mind  like  Goethe's.  But  should  there  not  be  artists 
whose  creative  genius  could  adapt  Greek  architecture 
organically  to  modem  conditions,  and  thus  make  its  great 
beauty  available  for  Christian  times? 

Apparently  Goethe  had  expected  something  of  the  kind 
from  Palladio.  As  far  back  as  1782  he  had  tried  to  get  this 
artist's  treatise  on  architecture,  but  had  only  been  able 
to  secure  etchings  of  his  structures  in  Vicenza.  Now  he 
saw  the  monuments  themselves  with  his  own  eyes,  and  we 
have  heard  what  a  charm  they  exerted  over  him.  "Pal- 
ladio was  inwardly  a  very  great  man,"  is  his  first  expres- 
sion in  Vicenza.  He  feels  that  he  must  seek  to  follow 
more  closely  the  traces  of  the  activity  of  this  genius.  The 
need  seems  to  him  the  more  urgent,  as  further  great  works 
of  the  master  await  him  in  Venice.  In  Padua  he  suc- 
ceeds in  buying  Palladio 's  book  on  architecture ;  in  Venice 
he  studies  it.  "A  good  spirit  moved  me  to  seek  this  book 
with  so  much  zeal.  .  .  .  Now  the  scales  fall  from  my 
eyes!  The  mist  is  parting  and  I  recognise  objects."  The 
book  makes  him  "very  happy"  for  days.     He  seeks  "right 


378  Zbc  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

heartily"  to  make  it  his  own,  and,  not  satisfied  with  read- 
ing, he  follows  Palladio's  outlines  with  his  pencil.  He 
eagerly  seeks  out  the  chief  creations  of  the  master  in  Venice : 
the  churches,  S.  Giorgio  and  II  Redentore,  and  the  mon- 
astery, Carita,  In  the  churches  he  does  not  fail  to  recog- 
nise many  unevennesses  resulting  from  the  desire  of  the 
artist,  embarrassed  by  many  other  considerations,  to  unite 
the  facade  of  the  antique  temple  with  a  church  crowned 
by  a  cupola,  crossed  by  a  transept,  and,  as  in  the  case  of  S. 
Giorgio,  provided  with  more  than  one  nave.  Nevertheless 
Goethe  admires  the  genius  with  which  the  artist  made 
himself  master  of  the  difficulties,  and,  especially  in  the 
case  of  II  Redentore,  by  the  simple  means  of  form  and 
proportion  within  and  without  produced  a  church  of  in- 
comparable purity,  chastity,  and  simplicity,  that  to  the 
eye  resolves  all  conflicting  elements  into  most  noble  har- 
mony and  organic  regularity.  But  his  greatest  achieve- 
ment was  in  the  Caritk,  where  there  were  no  Hmitations. 
Here  the  church  was  already  built,  and  it  was  only  a  ques- 
tion of  a  habitation  for  the  monks,  which  under  an  Italian 
sky  he  could  very  well  design  after  an  antique  model,  with- 
out being  compelled  to  make  any  concessions  to  climate. 
Unfortunately  only  the  tenth  part  of  the  plan  was  exe- 
cuted and  this  was  later  surrounded  by  unspeakably  pro- 
saic structures.  But  even  in  these  surroundings  the  poet 
discovers  the  spark  of  divine  genius  in  Palladio's  conception, 
and  makes  three  or  four  pilgrimages  to  the  master's  great 
work.  "  One  could  spend  years  in  the  contemplation  of 
such  a  creation."  "If  it  had  been  finished  there  would 
probably  not  be  a  more  perfect  piece  of  architecture  in  the 
world."  Unless  one  possesses  the  architectural  eye  of  a 
Goethe  one  cannot,  even  with  the  help  of  the  plans  in 
Palladio's  Architettura,  rise  to  such  enthusiasm.  But  it 
may  be  permissible  to  refer  to  the  fact  that  Jakob  Burck- 
hardt,  the  greatest  connoisseur  of  Renaissance  art,  con- 
siders Goethe's  enthusiasm  for  the  Caritk  well  founded. 

If  there  was  anything  that  could  confirm  Goethe  in  his 
long-cherished  predilection  for  the  antique  it  was  the  study 


Utal^  379 

of  Palladio.  Under  the  weight  of  this  artist's  words  and 
works  his  radical  renunciation  of  the  Gothic  is  made  per- 
manent. When  he  sees  in  the  Palazzo  Farsetti  the  cast  of 
a  part  of  the  entablature  of  the  temple  of  Antoninus  and 
Faustina  (in  Rome)  his  long-restrained  anger  at  the  Gothic 
breaks  out.  He  compares  "the  projecting  presence" 
of  this  splendid  architectural  work  with  the  Gothic  style, 
and  exclaims:  "This  is  indeed  something  different  from 
the  crouching  saints  of  our  Gothic  ornamentation,  piled 
one  upon  another  on  corbels, — something  different  from 
our  tobacco-pipe  colimms,  pointed  turrets,  and  flowery 
pinnacles.  These,  thank  God,  I  am  now  rid  of  for 
ever."  This  is  a  fierce  abjuration  of  his  sometime  youth- 
ful love. 

Whether  Goethe  was  right  in  his  youth,  or  after  he  had 
reached  maturity,  cannot  be  answered  categorically,  es- 
pecially as  the  final  reasons  for  the  decision  are  as  subjective 
as  in  one's  answer  to  such  a  question  as,  "  Which  is  the  more 
beautiful,  a  forest  of  evergreen  trees  or  a  forest  of  deciduous 
trees?"  But  this  much  may  be  said,  that  Goethe  confines 
himself  here  to  externals,  which  are  not  the  essentials  of 
Gothic  art,  and,  furthermore,  that  no  matter  if  a  higher 
constructive  and  decorative  unity,  and  a  greater  repose 
be  conceded  the  Greek  style  as  compared  with  the  Gothic, 
the  fancy  and  profundity  of  Christian,  especially  of  Germanic 
nations,  cannot  exhaust  themselves  within  the  limitations 
of  constructive  regularity,  or  of  the  reposeful  Greek  line  of 
beauty.  Goethe  himself  recognised  this  in  the  field  of 
poetry.  In  his  Anmerkungen  zu  Rameaus  Neffe  (1805)  he 
says:  "One  cannot  refer  us  of  the  north  exclusively  to 
those  models  [Greeks  and  Romans].  ...  If  the  mon- 
strous had  not  come  in  contact  with  the  insipid  through  the 
romantic  turn  of  unenlightened  centuries,  where  should 
we  find  a  Hamlet,  a  Lear,  an  Adoration  of  the  Cross,  a 
Principe  Constante?  It  is  our  duty  courageously  to  main- 
tain our  position  on  the  height  of  these  barbarian  ad- 
vantages, inasmuch  as  we  shall  probably  never  attain 
to  the  antique  ground  of  vantage."     He  himself  was  both 


38o  Zbc  %\tc  Of  (Boetbe 

consciously  and  unconsciously  faithful  to  this  duty  in  the 
greatest  achievement  of  his  Hfe. 

In  later  years,  under  the  influence  of  his  young  friend, 
the  enthusiastic  champion  of  the  Gothic,  Sulpiz  Boisseree, 
Goethe,  seeking  to  give  the  despised  style  its  due  historical 
recognition,  judged  it  less  harshly ;  but  he  never  again  went 
beyond  a  cool,  qualified  recognition  of  its  merits. 

The  most  important  result  for  our  consideration  here  is 
the  fact  that  Goethe,  while  in  Italy,  turned  with  full  deter- 
mination to  the  antique,  and  by  the  side  of  it  would  endure 
its  imitation  and  further  development  in  the  Renaissance 
only  when  accompHshed  with  the  profound  understanding 
of  a  Palladio. 

With  his  hostility  to  the  Gothic,  Goethe  could  not  do 
justice  to  the  Italian  buildings  in  that  style.  He  either 
ignored  them — and  this  was  usually  the  case — or  saw  only 
their  defects,  and  condemned  them.  Thus  in  the  great 
and  wonderful  Palace  of  the  Doges  he  saw  only  the  short, 
massive  columns  of  the  lower  gallery,  which  seemed  to  run 
into  the  ground,  and  allowed  this  fact  to  destroy  for  him 
the  effect  of  the  whole  structure.  On  the  other  hand,  we 
will  not  lay  it  to  the  charge  of  the  Gothic  ingredients  in  St. 
Mark's  that  for  this  cathedral,  which  so  completely  capti- 
vates our  fancy  at  first  sight,  Goethe  has  nothing  but  scorn, 
and  says  that  its  architecture  is  worthy  of  all  the  nonsense 
that  may  ever  have  been  taught  or  practised  in  it.  This 
hodgepodge  of  Gothic,  Byzantine,  and  Romanesque  ele- 
ments, which  looks  like  the  dream  of  a  child  that  builds 
itself  a  structure  out  of  all  sorts  of  precious  stones,  gay 
colours,  gold,  statues,  pillars,  and  pillarets,  could  find  no 
mercy  before  the  severity  of  his  great  spirit. 

But  all  the  more  extravagant  is  the  praise  he  lavished 
on  the  small  number  of  antique  specimens  in  Venice:  the 
collections  in  the  Library,  in  the  Palazzo  Parse tti,  the 
marble  lions  in  front  of  the  Arsenal,  the  bronze  horses  of 
St.  Mark's,  and  a  few  bas-reliefs  in  the  church  of  Santa 
Giustina  with  spirits  "whose  beauty  transcends  all  con- 
ception." 


fltal^  381 

Goethe's  sojourn  in  Venice  had  lasted  seventeen  days. 
He  had  made  good  use  of  his  time  in  allowing  the  strange, 
unique  picture  of  the  city  to  impress  itself  upon  him. 
"  The  first  period  of  my  journey  is  ended ;  may  Heaven  bless 
the  others!"     At  the  end  of  the  second  stood  Rome. 

In  the  moment  when  this  goal  looms  up  before  him 
everything  that  lies  between  is  overshadowed  by  it.  With 
the  same  fervour  with  which  he  originally  longed  for  Italy 
he  now  longs  for  Rome;  and  the  same  torturing  fear  that 
some  obstacle  may  come  up  between  him  and  his  goal  again 
pursues  him  to  the  very  gates  of  the  Eternal  City.  After 
a  flying  visit  to  Ferrara  and  Cento,  on  the  i6th  and  17th  of 
October,  he  anticipates  great  joy  from  the  sight  of  Ra- 
phael's Saint  Cecilia  in  Bologna.^*  Nevertheless  he  is  impa- 
tient: "  I  cannot  express  how  the  nearness  of  Rome  draws 
me  on.  If  I  were  to  yield  to  my  impatience,  I  should  see 
nothing  on  the  way,  but  should  hasten  straight  on.  One 
more  fortnight,  and  a  longing  of  thirty  years  will  be  quieted. 
And  yet  even  now  it  seems  to  me  as  if  it  were  not  possible." 

Thus  he  writes  on  the  evening  of  the  17  th.  On  the  i8th, 
however,  he  has  formed  the  "very  pacifying"  resolution  to 
shorten  the  fortnight  by  merely  passing  through  Florence 
and  making  straight  for  Rome.  "Nothing  can  afford  me 
any  pleasure  till  that  first  need  is  satisfied;  yesterday  in 
Cento,  to-day  here,  I  hasten  on,  anxious,  as  it  were,  that  the 
time  may  pass  by."  On  the  19th,  toward  evening,  after  he 
has  seen  the  Saint  Cecilia,  he  determines  again  to  write  a 
calm  word  of  sound  sense:  "For  during  these  last  days  it 
was  impossible  for  me.  I  know  not  how  it  will  be  this 
evening.  The  world  is  running  away  from  beneath  my 
feet,  and  an  unutterable  passion  is  driving  me  on.  The 
sight  of  the  Raphael  and  a  walk  toward  the  mountains 
have  pacified  me  somewhat  and  given  me  a  slight  bond  of 
attachment  to  this  city."  He  counsels  himself  well,  say- 
ing: "I  will  be  composed  and  wait.  I  have  possessed 
myself  in  patience  these  thirty  years;  I  shall  certainly 
survive  another  fortnight." 


382  Zbc  %itc  of  (Boetbe 

A  few  more  days  are  to  be  devoted  to  the  city,  which  has 
much  to  offer  him  in  the  realms  of  art  and  nature.  A 
geological  excursion  on  the  20th  affords  him  a  "perfectly 
beautiful  and  happy  day,"  and  we  begin  to  think  he  has 
again  foimd  the  ease  and  comfort  with  which  he  enjoyed  his 
travel  from  Verona  to  Venice,  when  we  are  suddenly  aston- 
ished at  his  remark:  "It  seems  that  Heaven  hears  my 
prayer.  I  have  a  driver  to  take  me  to  Rome  and  shall  leave 
here  the  day  after  to-morrow."  But  he  does  not  wait 
for  the  day  after  to-morrow.  The  very  next  morning  he 
is  sitting  in  his  carriage  and  driving  up  the  slope  of  the 
Apennines. 

On  the  23rd  he  arrives  in  Florence,  the  birthplace  of  the 
Renaissance.  Glorious  treasures  of  antique  and  modem 
art  are  here  preserved,  but  they  have  no  power  over  him. 
He  runs  through  the  city  in  three  hours  and  then  continues 
his  journey.  Slowly — much  too  slowly  for  his  impatience — 
the  journey  drags  on  through  the  valleys  of  the  Apennines. 
With  the  miserable  inns,  miserable  carriages,  miserable 
money,  and  extortions  he  has  his  daily  troubles ;  but  even 
if  he  were  to  be  taken  to  Rome  on  the  wheel  of  Ixion  he 
would  be  satisfied.  On  the  evening  of  the  25th  he  comes  to 
the  city  where  Raphael  was  educated,  Perugia,  filled  with 
works  of  the  Umbrian  school  of  painting.  He  continues  his 
journey  on  the  following  morning  without  having  seen  a 
single  one  of  them.  "  Until  I  reach  Rome  I  do  not  care  to 
open  my  eyes  or  lift  up  my  heart.  I  have  three  more  days 
to  travel  and  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  should  never  reach  my 
destination."  As  he  nears  Rome  his  impatience  reaches  a 
feverish  height.  From  the  earliest  grey  of  morning  till 
nightfall  he  drives  on  without  stopping.  He  sleeps  with  his 
clothes  on  so  that  he  "  may  be  ready  at  once  in  the  morning." 
He  pays  no  attention  to  Raphael's  blissful  Madonna  in 
Foligno  (now  in  the  Vatican).  He  seeks  out  only  what  he 
can  include  without  lengthening  his  journey,  and,  in  case  of 
doubt,  always  gives  the  preference  to  the  antique.  In 
Assisi,  for  example,  he  makes  a  very  careful  study  of  the 
temple  of  Minerva  that  has  been  converted  into  a  church, 


Htm  383 

but  does  not  bestow  a  single  look  upon  the  remarkable, 
and,  artistically,  so  important  Franciscan  Convent.  On  the 
evening  of  the  27th  he  writes  with  oppressed  heart:  "  Rome! 
Rome!  .  .  .  Two  more  nights,  and,  if  the  angel  of  the 
Lord  does  not  destroy  us  on  the  way,  we  shall  be  there!" 
On  the  following  evening  his  heart  is  cheered  with  a  shimmer 
of  the  approaching  happiness:  "To-morrow  evening  in 
Rome !  After  that  there  will  be  nothing  left  for  me  to  de- 
sire, except  again  to  see  thee  and  my  little  circle  in  good 
health."  Fate  brings  him  to  Rome  on  the  following  day, 
well  and  happy.  In  tremendous  excitement  he  dashes  off 
two  short  notes  in  his  diary: 

''Evening. — My  second  word  is  to  be  addressed  to  thee, 
now  that  I  have  rendered  hearty  thanks  to  Heaven  for 
bringing  me  hither.  I  can  say  nothing  except  that  I  am 
here.     I  have  sent  for  Tischbein. 

"Night. — Tischbein  came  to  see  me.  A  delightfully 
good  fellow.  At  last  I  am  beginning  to  live  and  I  adore  my 
genius.     More  to-morrow." 

But  no  more  was  added  the  next  day.  Late  in  the  even- 
ing of  the  30th  he  wrote :  "Just  a  word  after  a  very  rich  day. 
I  saw  this  morning  the  most  important  ruins  of  ancient 
Rome,  this  evening  St.  Peter's,  and  now  I  am  initiated.  I 
have  moved  to  Tischbein's,  and  shall  now  have  a  rest  from 
all  inn-life  and  travel.     Farewell." 

These  are  the  first  words  written  after  his  arrival  in 
Rome.  In  their  disconnectedness,  condensation,  —  one 
might  almost  say,  in  their  breathlessness, — they,  together 
with  the  prayer  of  gratitude  which  he  first  of  all  sends  up  to 
Heaven,  reflect  with  unsurpassable  faithfulness  the  feelings 
and  impressions  with  which  he  is  overwhelmed.  How  much 
more  gentle,  more  composed  is  the  tone  of  the  introduction 
to  the  chapter  on  Rome  in  his  Italienische  Reise,  copied  from 
the  letter  which  he  addressed  to  the  Duke  on  the  sixth  day! 

Goethe  was  in  Rome.  The  dream  of  his  youth  was  ful- 
filled. Twice  before  he  had  had  it  in  his  power  to  realise 
this  dream.  The  first  time  he  was  drawn  back  by  love,  the 
second  time  by  consideration  for  the  Duke,  but,  above  all, 


384  Zhc  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

by  a  vague,  instinctive  feeling  that  the  fulness  of  time  was 
not  yet  come.  "Everything  at  the  right  time!"  he  one 
day  exclaimed  with  reference  to  the  linking  together  of 
events  in  his  life.  It  would  be  impossible  to  foretell  what 
would  have  been  the  results  if  he  had  descended  into  Italy 
from  the  St.  Gothard  in  1775.  Either  he  would  have  re- 
mained in  Rome  and  become  a  Roman,  like  Winckelmann 
and  so  many  others,  or,  if  antique  and  Renaissance  art  had 
not  then  had  the  power  to  overcome  the  Gothic  in  him,  and 
the  mild  Italian  landscape  had  not  then  been  able  to  counter- 
balance the  Ossianic  romanticism  of  the  Alps,  he  would  have 
returned  home  more  at  sea  than  when  he  had  gone  thither, 
and,  under  the  burden  of  the  unadjustable  disagreements 
with  his  father,  the  narrowness  of  civic  life,  and  the  sorrow 
of  his  rupture  with  Lili,  he  might  have  destroyed  his  Hfe. 
In  1779  the  journey  would  have  been  a  flying  visit,  arousing 
more  longing  than  it  satisfied,  and  it  would  have  taken  away 
the  best  part  of  the  healing  power  of  the  Italian  sky  for  him 
in  later  years.  In  1786  his  need  of  this  healing  was  surely 
undiminished.  Only  as  the  greatness  and  beauty  of  the 
south  presented  itself  to  him  in  the  full  power  and  splendour 
of  its  newness  were  the  many  signs  of  old  age  that  had 
begun  to  be  visible  in  his  whole  being  removed,  making  him 
capable  of  new,  fresh  life.  "  I  count  a  second  birthday,  a 
true  regeneration,  from  the  day  I  entered  Rome  "  (December 
2,  1786).  "I  have  been  restored  again  to  the  enjoyment  of 
life,  to  the  enjoyment  of  history,  poetry,  and  antiquities" 
(January  6,  1787).  "  I  am  living  a  new  youth"  (February 
6,  1787).  Such  is  the  refrain  which  rings  through  his  letters 
from  Rome.  The  process  of  rejuvenation,  which  had  begun 
when  he  inhaled  the  noonday  air  at  the  southern  foot  of  the 
Brenner,  was  completed  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  artistic 
world  of  Rome. 

Rome,  with  its  superabundance  of  great  works  and 
memories,  surrounds  him  like  a  heaving  sea.  "Every  day 
some  new,  remarkable  object;  daily  new  pictures,  great  and 
strange,  and  an  ensemble  of  which  one  may  long  think  and 
dream,  but  which  the  imagination  can  never  comprehend." 


•fltali?  385 

He  strenuously  struggles  to  make  himself  master  of  the 
world  which  lies  open  before  him.  But  the  exertion  is  de- 
lightful, and  well  may  he  compare  himself  to  a  happy 
Orestes,  whom  the  Furies  no  longer  pursue,  and  whom  the 
Muses  and  Graces  and  the  whole  host  of  the  blissful  gods 
overwhelm  with  revelations.  So  rich  is  the  harvest  of  each 
day  that  he  is  no  longer  able  to  give  an  account  of  it  in  a 
diary.  He  is  compelled  to  limit  himself  to  occasional  let- 
ters, and  in  these  to  important  things  and  generalities. 

It  is  above  all  ancient  Rome  which  rises  up  out  of  the 
ruins  in  mighty  grandeur  before  him,  and  he  enhances  the 
effect  by  seeking  to  reconstruct,  not  merely  the  ruins,  but 
also  the  life  which  at  one  time  animated  them. 

§lcr  befolg'  id)  ben  9tat,  biird)bldttrc  bie  SSerfc  bcr  5lltcn 
93^it  Qcfdiaftigcr  §anb,  tdglic^  mil  neuem  @enu|.* 

On  the  other  hand,  he  hastens  past  the  Christian  Rome 
of  the  popes  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  modem  times,  for  it 
has  nothing  of  profound  interest  for  him.  Even  in  the  field 
of  Christian  art  his  appreciation  is  confined  almost  exclu- 
sively to  painting,  and  that,  too,  within  much  more  circum- 
scribed limits  than  in  the  other  Italian  cities.  Of  the  famous 
sculptures  of  Christian  times  he  mentions,  as  heretofore, 
none  in  particular;  of  the  monumental  buildings  only  St. 
Peter's,  and  even  this  with  reserve,  laying  the  chief  stress 
on  the  greatness  of  the  mass.  When  he  wishes  to  name  the 
works  which  have  made  the  deepest  impression  on  him  he 
mentions  the  fagade  of  the  Pantheon,  the  Apollo  Belvedere, 
the  colossal  busts  of  the  Jupiter  d'OtricoW^  and  the  Juno 
Ludovisi,  and  the  frescos  of  Michael  Angelo  in  the  Sistine 
Chapel. 

Michael  Angelo  is  accordingly  the  only  one  of  the  more 
modem  artists  who  exerted  as  strong  an  influence  on  him 
as  the  ancients.  His  greatness  gave  him  a  place  beside 
them;  but,  be  it  noted,  only  in  his  frescos,  which  have  no 
antique  rival.     In  the  poet's  estimation  the  plastic  works  of 

*  Here  I  follow  the  counsel  I  find  in  the  works  of  the  ancients. 
Turning  them  busily  o'er,  daily  with  pleasure  renewed. 

VOL.  I. — 25. 


386  xi\)c  %\tc  Of  (Boetbe 

Michael  Angelo  in  Rome  (Moses,  Pieta),  which  are  cer- 
tainly not  lacking  in  greatness,  pale  into  insignificance  be- 
side the  antique  sculptures.  With  the  standard  which  he 
received  from  Michael  Angelo  for  the  judgment  of  painting, 
the  qmet  beauty  of  Raphael,  who  had  seemed  to  him,  as  he 
stood  before  the  St.  Cecilia  in  Bologna,  the  painter  without  a 
peer,  could  arouse  within  him  here  only  a  subdued  pleasure. 
The  cycle  of  pictures  in  the  Villa  Famesina  {Amor  and 
Psyche),  and  the  Transfigiiration  he  calls  in  a  dry,  good- 
natured  way,  "old  acquaintances,"  friends,  that  he  has 
made  at  a  distance  by  correspondence,  and  now  meets  per- 
sonally; and  he  complains  of  the  pictures  in  the  stanzas 
and  the  loggias  that  they  are  too  faded,  whereas  the 
blackened  frescos  in  the  Sistine  Chapel,  far  from  disturbing 
him,  only  stimulate  him  to  take  three  times  the  pains  to 
study  them. 

In  short,  greatness  is  his  first  requirement  in  a  work  of 
art.  One  sees  what  pleasure  he  feels  as  his  soul  is  broad- 
ened by  the  greatness  of  what  he  sees,  after  he  has  grown 
languid  under  the  petty  tasks  and  details  of  his  official  life 
in  Saxe-Weimar.  Now  he  is  convinced  that  greatness  is 
nothing  more  than  the  acme  of  truth.  Accordingly  the 
works  of  the  ancients  are  great  only  because  they  are  true  in 
conception  and  execution.  He  finds  this  most  clearly  re- 
vealed in  works  of  architecture.  Their  greatness  is  never 
the  expression  of  an  arbitrary  fancy,  and  never  a  misrepre- 
sentation to  cover  up  inner  pettiness  and  hollowness.  The 
Romans  never  built  a  spacious  palace  to  give  the  false  ap- 
pearance of  greatness  to  a  petty  prince,  who  occasionally 
lived  in  it  with  his  courtiers,  but  because  such  an  abode  was 
in  keeping  with  the  greatness  of  the  position  and  business 
of  a  world-ruler.  They  built  aqueducts,  not  for  amuse- 
ment's sake,  but  for  the  purpose  of  furnishing  the  people 
with  water.  The  same  is  true  of  their  temples,  theatres, 
race-courses,  and  baths.  And  as  the  spirit,  so  the  body  of 
their  structures:  walls  of  solid  rock,  no  imitation  stone  of 
whitewash,  plaster  of  Paris,  and  wood;  no  pasted-on 
decorations,    no   finical   ornaments,    no   urns   or   puppets; 


everything  genuine,  solid  material  with  natural  and  appro- 
priate adornment. 

In  reality  the  contrast  is  not  as  harsh  as  we,  following 
Goethe's  indications,  have  here  represented  it  to  be;  but 
he  saw  it  and  felt  it  to  be  so,  even  before  he  reached  Rome. 
When  he  viewed  in  Spoleto  the  antique  aqueduct  which 
spans  a  gorge  with  its  great  arches  he  said :  "  Now  this  is 
the  third  *  work  of  the  ancients  that  I  have  seen.  .  .  . 
Now  I  feel  for  the  first  time  how  justly  I  hated  all  capricious 
structures,  such  as  the  Winterkasten  on  the  Weissenstein 
[Wilhelmshohe  Castle  near  Kassel]  for  example,  a  nothing 
for  nothing's  sake,  a  monstrous  epergne  of  confectionery, 
and  a  thousand  other  things  in  the  same  category.  They 
are  all  still -bom;  for  that  which  has  no  true  inward  exist- 
ence has  no  life  and  cannot  be  great  or  become  great." 

Even  if  the  Roman  structures  in  Verona,  Assisi,  and 
Spoleto  had  awakened  such  profound  joy  in  his  soul,  his 
delight  must  have  been  much  greater  when  he  saw  the 
majestic  works  of  the  ancients  in  Rome,  from  the  Pantheon 
and  the  Colosseum  to  the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella  on  the 
Appian  Way,  and  the  miles  of  aqueducts  in  the  Campagna. 
"Here  one  must  become  solid,"  is  a  pregnant  expression  of 
his  from  the  beginning  of  his  sojourn  in  Rome. 

It  was  a  glorious  thing  for  Goethe  to  revel  in  this  great 
world.  And  to  heighten  his  enjoyment  the  circumstances 
of  his  life  in  Rome  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  He  had  taken 
lodgings  with  the  painter  Tischbein,  an  original  nature,  of 
cheerful  instincts,  and  lived  very  happily  with  him  and  his 
young  housemates,  the  painters  Schiitz  and  Bury.  He 
still  preserved  his  incognito,  throwing  it  off  only  to  a  small 
circle  of  German  artists  and  amateurs  of  art,  at  the  same 
time  pledging  each  of  them  not  to  betray  his  presence,  nor 
mention  his  rank  or  name.  To  this  circle  belonged,  in 
addition  to  the  above-mentioned :  Privy  Councillor  Reiffen- 
stein,  for  the  last  twenty -four  years  a  resident  of  Rome,  and 
exceptionally  well  informed  on  matters  of  interest  in  the 

*  The  first  was  the  Amphitheatre  in  Verona,  the  second  the  temple 
of  Minerva  in  Assisi. 


388  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 


o 


city;  the  studious  archaeologist,  Hirt;  the  writer,  Karl  Phil- 
ipp  Moritz,  a  man  of  gloomy  meditation  and  fine  taste; 
the  sculptor,  Trippel,  who  modelled  the  Apollonian  bust  of 
Goethe;  the  young  Swiss  painter,  Heinrich  Meyer,  a 
thorough  investigator  of  all  questions  of  art;  charming, 
tender,  wise  Angelika  Kauffmann,  highly  esteemed  by 
Goethe,  as  by  everybody,  on  account  of  her  noble  woman- 
hood and  lovely  art ;  and  her  husband,  the  Italian  painter, 
Zucchi.  In  his  associations  with  these  excellent  people 
Goethe  felt  at  home,  and  joined  them  in  work  and  recrea- 
tion. In  his  turn  he  aroused  in  his  friends  a  feeling  of 
pleasure  and  admiration,  although  they  were  surprised 
that  "the  man  of  such  lively  emotions  possessed  so  much 
gravity  and  repose."  He  himself  confesses  that,  if  he  had 
allowed  them  to  have  their  way,  they  would  have  commit- 
ted a  hundred  follies  with  him  and  in  the  end  would  have 
crowned  him  on  the  Capitol.  To  make  his  happiness  com- 
plete Heaven  put  on  its  most  friendly  smile.  A  sunny, 
springlike  winter,  such  as  Rome  had  not  experienced  from 
time  immemorial,  favoured  a  most  profitable  life  in  the 
open,  and  day  after  day  bathed  the  Eternal  City,  with  its 
cupolas  and  palaces,  its  ruins  and  its  cypresses,  in  a  flood 
of  cheerful  light  and  soft  haze. 

The  joyful  Roman  symphony  was  suddenly  interrupted 
by  a  shrill,  discordant  note.  The  first  news  had  arrived 
from  Weimar.  How  had  Frau  von  Stein  received  his  flight 
and  the  veil  of  secrecy  in  which  he  had  chosen  to  envelop 
his  movements  ?  Two  days  before  his  departure  Goethe  had 
written  to  his  beloved  that  at  the  end  of  September  she 
would  be  in  possession  of  a  letter  that  would  give  her  his 
address.  September  passed,  and  likewise  October.  Indeed 
the  middle  of  November  was  approaching,  and  still  she  did 
not  know  whither  her  fugitive  friend  had  turned.  To  be 
sure,  she  had  received  two  letters  from  him  after  long  in- 
tervals of  waiting ;  but  they  were  short,  and,  contrary  to  his 
promise,  maintained  a  stubborn  silence  as  to  his  place  of 
abode.     By  so  doing  he  for  a  long  time  voluntarily  deprived 


himself  of  communications  from  her.  What  was  she  to 
think  of  this  conduct  ?  Was  he  the  same  man  to  whom  for 
years  every  Hne  from  her  had  seemed  a  coveted  gift,  and 
to  whom  after  their  union  of  souls  in  the  bonds  of  love  a 
few  days  of  separation  had  seemed  a  hard  sacrifice?  Was 
he  the  same  man  who  had  written  to  her  from  Eisenach  in 
June,  1784:  "  I  am  told  that  in  thirty -one  hoiirs  I  could  be 
in  Frankfort,  and  I  cannot  entertain  the  most  fleeting 
thought  of  going  thither ;  my  nature  is  so  drawn  to  thee  that 
there  is  no  nerve  left  to  perform  the  other  duties  of  my 
heart " ;  and  who  had  confessed  to  her  in  August  of  the  same 
year  in  soulful  verses,  that  the  overruling  star  of  her  love 
bound  him  irresistibly  to  her  and  to  Weimar?  Was  he  the 
same  man  who  had  assured  her  innumerable  times,  and  had 
verified  his  assurances  by  his  actions,  that  a  boundless  con- 
fidence in  her  had  become  with  him  a  necessity;  who  only 
recently,  in  July,  had  written  to  her :  "  Dearest,  only  being 
to  whom  my  whole  soul  can  reveal  and  devote  itself"? 
Why  had  he  on  this  occasion  so  carefully  concealed  from 
her  his  purposes  and  his  whereabouts?  May  he  perchance 
have  supposed  that,  if  it  was  a  question  of  a  journey  for 
study  or  recreation — even  if  for  never  so  long — she  would 
prevent  his  going  or  conjure  him  back?  If  not,  what  else 
could  his  flight  and  concealment  mean  but  a  renunciation  of 
her,  a  betrayal?  In  that  case  his  loving  words  in  the  last 
letters  from  Karlsbad  and  the  first  ones  from  Italy  were 
nothing  but  empty  phrases  with  which  he  wished  to  appease 
her  and  extenuate  his  conduct. 

Such  must  have  been  the  train  of  thought  which  passed 
through  Frau  von  Stein's  mind,  and  we  should  feel  no  occa- 
sion for  surprise  if  her  pent-up  feelings  had  burst  forth  in 
intense  or  violent  accusations.  But  her  moderate  soul  was 
far  from  doing  such  a  thing.  Her  unutterable  pain  at  the 
apparent  loss  of  her  lover  found  its  only  expression  in  gentle, 
touching  lamentations : 

3^r  ©ebanfcn  flict)ct  mid), 

3Bie  ber  grclln^  uon  mir  cnttrid)! 


390  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boctbe 

3^r  crinnert  mic^  bcr  3tunben, 
®ie  fo  licbctioU  iier[d)tt)iinben. 
O!  SSie  bin  id)  mm  allcin! 
©roig  raerb'  ic^  einfam  I'ein. 

SSa^  mir  feine  Siebe  gob, 
|>ull'  ic^  roie  ins  ticfe  @rab. 
5lc^,  ee  finb  Srinn'rungelcibcn 
@i"iBcr,  abgefc^icb'ner  grcitben. 


@(^ii|gcift,  ^I'lH'  mir  nun  nod)  cin 
Seined  23ilbe^  Ic^ten  i2d)cin, 
SKie  er  mir  fcin  ^^erj  tierfd)loiTcn, 
'Da^  cr  [onft  fo  ganj  crgoffcn, 
SBic  cr  fic^  non  mciner  ^^a^b 
8tumm  unb  fait  ^at  roeggciuanbt.* 

Apparently  Goethe  had  meanwhile  taken  no  account  of 
what  a  deep  and  painful  impression  the  very  secrecy  of  his 
journey  might  make  upon  her.  He  himself  felt  so  firmly 
bound  to  her,  tarried  with  her  in  thought  so  constantly,  and 
sought  so  zealously,  by  means  of  the  diary  which  he  wrote 
for  her,  to  have  her  share  all  the  good  and  beautiful  things 
which  he  enjoyed,  that  fear  of  a  misinterpretation  never 

*  Now,  my  thoughts,  ye  take  to  flight 
As  my  friend  escaped  from  sight ! 
Bygone  hours  ye  call  to  mind, 
Hours  in  love's  sweet  dream  enshrined. 
O,  poor,  lonely,  lonely  me! 
Ever  shall  I  lonely  be. 

What  his  love  to  me  once  gave 
I  conceal  as  in  the  grave. 
Ah!  't  is  mem'ry's  sorrow  sore 
Over  sweetest  joys  of  yore. 

•  •  ■  •  • 

Guardian  spirit,  veil  from  view 
How  he  bade  me  last  adieu ; 
How  his  heart  was  tightly  sealed 
Which  erstwhile  stood  all  revealed; 
How  my  touch  of  love  he  spurned, 
Cold  and  speechless  from  me  turned. 


Iltalp  391 

once  entered  his  mind.  And  how  often  he  interspersed  his 
accounts  of  the  day  with  express  words  of  most  cordial, 
tender  feeHng  for  the  far-away  mistress  of  his  heart!  "As 
usual,  my  love,  when  the  Ave  Maria  della  Sera  is  prayed  I 
turn  my  thoughts  to  thee.  However,  I  must  not  express 
myself  thus,  for  they  are  with  thee  all  the  day"  (Padua, 
September  27  th).  "  After  a  day  happily  and  well  spent  an 
inexpressibly  sweet  feeling  always  comes  over  me  when  I 
sit  down  to  write  to  thee"  (Venice,  September  29th). 
"  Sitting  again  in  a  cave  which  a  year  ago  siiffered  from  an 
earthquake  I  turn  my  prayer  to  thee,  my  dear  guardian 
spirit.  I  now  feel  for  the  first  time  how  spoiled  I  am.  To 
live  with  thee  ten  years  and  be  loved  by  thee,  and  now  out 
in  a  strange  world!  I  foresaw  it,  and  only  extreme  neces- 
sity could  compel  me  to  take  the  step.  Let  us  have  no 
other  thought  than  of  ending  our  days  together"  (Temi, 
October  27  th). 

How  many  painful  days  Goethe  might  have  spared  him- 
self and  Frau  von  Stein  if  he  had  only  seen  to  it  that  these 
documents  of  his  continued  love  reached  their  destination 
at  the  same  time  as  his  first  letters  from  Rome!  By  some 
remarkable  oversight,  which  can  be  explained  only  by  his 
dream-life  in  Italy,  the  first  part  of  his  diary — the  part  up 
to  and  including  Venice — did  not  reach  her  till  Christmas ; 
the  second  part  arrived  at  New  Year's,  1787.  The  first 
letters  from  Rome  in  which  he  betrayed  his  secret  had 
arrived  in  Weimar  in  the  middle  of  November.  But  there 
was  none  among  them  for  Frau  von  Stein,  a  new  and  bitter 
offence  to  his  beloved  and  a  new  corroboration  of  her  sus- 
picion. To  be  sure,  Goethe,  as  we  know,  had  dedicated  to 
her  the  very  first  happy  effusions  after  his  arrival,  but 
what  did  she  know  about  it?  They  were  recorded  in  his 
diary,  which  still  lay  in  Rome. 

Accordingly,  Frau  von  Stein  did  what  any  other  woman 
would  have  done  in  her  place:  as  soon  as  she  learned  his 
address  she  wrote  him  a  few  lines  which,  to  judge  from  his 
answer,  were  equivalent  to  dismissing  him  from  her  favour. 
He  received  the  note  on  the  9th  of  December. 


392  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

It  came  like  a  clap  of  thunder  out  of  a  clear  sky.  For 
days  he  is  robbed  of  all  enjoyment,  and  wanders  about  the 
ruins  of  Rome  like  a  spiritless  body.  In  the  first  flush  of 
feeling  he  cannot  imderstand  the  behaviour  of  his  beloved 
and  thinks  he  has  cause  to  find  fault  with  her.  "And  so 
that  was  all  that  thou  hadst  to  say  to  a  beloved  friend  who 
has  so  long  been  yearning  for  a  good  word  from  thee,  and  who 
has  not  spent  a  day,  indeed  not  an  hour  since  he  left  thee 
without  thinking  of  thee.  ...  I  cannot  tell  thee  how 
thy  short  note  has  rent  my  heart  asunder.  Farewell,  my 
only  love,  and  do  not  harden  thy  heart  against  me! "  In  a 
few  days  the  mist  rolls  away  from  his  eyes;  he  recognises 
his  fault.  On  the  13th  he  writes:  "  O,  my  most  beloved, 
if  I  could  only  put  upon  this  sheet  every  good,  true,  and 
sweet  word  of  love  and  friendship,  could  tell  thee  and  assure 
thee  that  I  am  near,  very  near  thee,  and  that  I  enjoy  my 
Hfe  only  for  thy  sake!  Thy  short  note  has  pained  me,  but 
most  of  all  because  I  have  caused  thee  pain.  Thou  wilt 
keep  silent  toward  me?  Thou  wilt  take  back  the  tokens  of 
thy  love?  Thou  canst  not  do  that  without  suffering  much, 
and  I  am  to  blame  for  it.  But  perhaps  there  is  a  letter  from 
thee  on  the  way,  which  will  cheer  me  and  comfort  me ;  per- 
haps my  diary  has  arrived  in  a  favourable  moment  and 
rejoiced  thee." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  a  second  letter  from  Frau  von  Stein 
did  arrive  soon,  but,  being  an  answer  to  his  two  hasty, 
rambling  letters  of  November,*  it  was  no  more  edifying 
than  the  first  one.  Nevertheless  he  thanks  her  for  it.  He 
is  willing  to  forget  the  painful  contents  of  the  letter.  "  My 
love:  I  beg  thee  on  bended  knee,  I  implore  thee,  make  it 
easier  for  me  to  return  to  thee,  that  I  need  not  remain  in 
banishment  in  the  wide,  wide  world.  Pardon  me  graciously 
the  wrongs  I  have  done  thee,  and  lift  me  up.  Write  me 
long  letters  and  tell  me  often  how  thou  livest,  that  thou  art 
well,  and  that  thou  lovest  me.  .  .  .  Do  not  consider 
me  parted  from  thee ;  nothing  in  the  world  can  replace  what 
I  should  lose  in  thee  and  in  my  relations  there.  .  .  . 
*  It  took  a  letter  sixteen  days  to  go  from  Weimar  to  Rome. 


Ital^  393 

That  thou  wast  ill,  ill  through  my  fault,  weighs  more  heavily 
upon  my  heart  than  I  can  tell  thee.  Pardon  me ;  I  myself 
am  still  uncertain  whether  I  shall  live  or  die,  and  no  tongue 
can  express  what  passed  within  my  soul.  My  diaries  must 
arrive  some  day  and  bring  my  heart  to  thee,  and  tell  thee 
that  thou  hast  all  my  love  and  that  thou  sharest  it  with  no 
one.  Farewell!  Love  me!  In  life  and  in  death  I  am 
thine! "  (December  23rd).  Finally,  on  the  17th  of  January, 
a  good  letter  arrives,  containing  consoling,  friendly  words. 
The  diary  has  reached  its  destination  and  has  produced 
the  desired  effect.  "How  it  refreshes  my  soul!"  exclaims 
Goethe  over  the  letter.  "Since  the  death  of  my  sister  no- 
thing has  so  saddened  me  as  the  pain  I  have  caused  thee 
by  my  separation  and  silence.  Thou  seest  how  near  my 
heart  was  to  thee.  Why  did  I  not  send  thee  the  diary  from 
every  station!  I  can  only  say  and  repeat:  'Pardon,  and 
let  us  live  together  again  and  more  joyously'"  (January  17, 
1787).  His  former  cheerfulness  is  restored  and  he  is  again 
able  to  jest  in  his  letters  to  her:  "  I  had  to  laugh  at  Frank- 
enberg's  caution  that  I  must  not  fall  in  love  here.  Thou 
hast  had  as  yet  only  one  rival  and  I  shall  bring  her  to  thee. 
It  is  a  colossal  head  of  Juno"  (January  27th).  Again  he 
enjoys  everything  with  his  beloved  in  spirit;  his  mono- 
logues are  again  directed  to  her;  his  only  wish  is  that  he 
may  be  able  to  give  her  a  great  deal  (February  ist).  He 
begs  her  still  to  hold  him  dear,  even  if  he  is  so  odd.  "  I 
have  so  much  to  put  up  with  in  myself  that  I  cannot  relieve 
my  friends  of  their  share  of  the  burden,  least  of  all  thee" 
(beginning  of  February) . 

Goethe  kept  postponing  his  journey  to  the  south,  much 
as  he  was  drawn  thither.  At  first  he  thought  he  could  be 
satisfied  with  four  weeks  for  his  first  sojourn  in  Rome; 
then  he  extended  the  period  to  eight  weeks,  and  finally 
lengthened  it  to  sixteen.  He  could  not  separate  himself 
from  the  great  city,  even  for  a  temporary  absence,  without 
having  some  clear  and  thorough  conception  of  the  treasures 
of  art  which  it  contained.  Everything  else  interested 
him  but  little.     He  avoided  studying  social  and  political 


394  Zbc  %itc  of  (Boetbe 

conditions,  in  which  he  has  elsewhere  shown  a  keen  interest, 
for  fear  that  the  Papal  State,  which  he  considered  a  model 
of  abominable  administration,  might  hinder  the  play  of  his 
imagination.  He  was  likewise  little  edified  by  the  theatre 
in  Rome,  which  drew  all  its  support  from  the  formal  drama, 
and  by  the  church  ceremonies,  which  he  placed  in  the  same 
category  as  the  theatre.  In  both  he  saw  nothing  but  a 
soulless  display  that  could  afford  no  pleasure  to  one  in  his 
frame  of  mind,  which  imcompromisingly  valued  things  ac- 
cording to  their  intrinsic  worth.  "The  Pope,"  he  says, 
"is  surely  the  best  actor."  Neither  does  the  life  of  the 
common  people  have  the  same  charm  for  him  in  Rome  as  in 
the  other  Italian  cities.  He  takes  part  in  the  carnival 
without  finding  any  real  pleasure  in  it,  because,  as  he  says, 
the  incredible  noise  that  the  people  make  lacks  inward 
cheerfulness.  His  happiness  is  in  art,  and  that,  too, — be 
it  once  more  emphasised — almost  exclusively  antique  art. 
His  inner  life  at  that  period  is  most  cleverly  symbolised  in 
Tischbein's  excellent  portrait  of  him  reclining  in  the  midst 
of  fragments  of  antique  art. 

After  Goethe  had  enjoyed  the  works  of  the  ancients 
esthetically  he  set  to  work  to  gain  an  historical  understanding 
of  them.  He  traced  antique  art  back  to  Egypt  and  sought 
to  gain  a  clear  idea  of  the  character  and  then  of  the  epochs 
of  the  individual  styles,  and  to  determine  them  more  defi- 
nitely than  had  hitherto  been  done.  It  was  of  especially 
great  value  to  him  to  compare  the  representation  of  the 
same  subjects  by  different  artists  and  epochs.  The  faculty 
of  discovering  relationships,  no  matter  how  remote  in  time 
or  space,  and  of  tracing  the  genesis  of  things,  is  extraordi- 
narily helpful  to  him  here,  as  in  the  natural  sciences,  and  he 
wishes  he  only  had  the  time  to  work  over  all  the  material 
and  his  ideas  concerning  it.  "  Winckelmann ! — Alas,  how 
much  he  has  done  and  how  much  he  has  left  to  be  desired!" 

In  the  middle  of  February  he  makes  a  catalogue  of  the 
things  he  has  not  yet  seen  and  is  astonished  at  their  number. 
The  mass  of  what  seems  to  him  important  becomes,  in  spite 
of  all  his  industry,  greater  instead  of  smaller.     Inscriptions, 


Ital^  395 

coins,  carv^ed  stones,  to  which  he  at  first  paid  no  attention, 
open  to  him  new  fields  of  study  with  a  superabundance  of 
material.  Rome  is  constantly  striking  new  roots  down  into 
his  inner  life,  and  only  on  the  22nd  of  February,  when 
Vesuvius  has  a  violent  eruption,  and  fear  of  the  summer 
heat  in  Sicily  begins  to  agitate  him,  does  he  decide,  at  least 
for  a  time,  to  turn  his  back  upon  the  beloved  city. 

Goethe  did  not  travel  alone.  He  took  Tischbein  along, 
as  he  wished  to  apply  himself  diligently  to  drawing,  and  did 
not  wish  to  be  deprived  of  his  friend's  eye  and  hand.  After 
three  beautiful  days  of  travel  via  Velletri,  the  Pontine 
Swamps,  Terracina,  and  Capua,  they  reached  Naples.  Al- 
though Goethe  had  since  childhood  been  prepared  for  the 
charm  of  the  Gulf  of  Naples,  nevertheless,  when  the  won- 
derful panorama  unrolled  before  his  eyes,  he  was  com- 
pletely enraptured.  "You  may  say,  narrate,  paint  what 
you  will,  here  there  is  more  than  all  of  it  put  together.  .  .  . 
I  pardoned  all  who  had  lost  their  minds  in  Naples,  and 
thought  with  emotion  of  my  father,  who  had  preser\^ed  an 
indelible  impression  of  these  objects."  He  calls  Naples  a 
paradise  in  which  he  lives  in  a  sort  of  intoxicated  self- 
forge  tfulness.  "I  hardly  recognise  myself.  Yesterday  I 
said  to  myself :  '  Either  thou  hast  been  crazy  hitherto  or 
thou  art  now.'"  Rome  on  its  small  river  in  the  desert 
Campagna  now  seems  to  him  like  an  old,  poorly  located  con- 
vent, when  compared  with  the  open  situation  of  Naples  in  a 
land  of  plenty,  and  beside  the  broad  sea  strewn  with  haze- 
enveloped  islands.  Whereas  in  Rome  he  desired  to  study, 
here  he  wished  only  to  live.  One  can  observ^e,  too,  how  his 
pleasure  in  the  enjoyment  of  life  grows  in  the  fascinating, 
sensuous  Neapolitan  world.  Leisurely  and  jo}^ully  he 
strolls  about  in  Naples  and  along  the  laughing  borders  of  the 
gulf  80  in  company  with  Tischbein  and  other  new  friends, 
such  as  the  landscape  painters,  Kniep,  and  Philipp.  and 
Georg  Hackert.  He  does  not  shut  himself  ofif  from  a  wider 
circle  of  acquaintances,  as  in  Rome ;  he  seeks  it  rather,  and 
spends  many  happy  hours  with  the  unconventional  Prinzess- 
chen,  and  with  Sir  William  Hamilton  and  his  coquettish  belle. 


396  Zbc  %\tc  ot  (Boetbc 

However,  he  carries  on  serious  work  at  the  same  time. 
In  Rome  he  was  under  the  sway  of  art:  here  nature  comes 
into  the  foreground.  It  is  here  that  he  gives  utterance  to  the 
beautiful  saying,  that  nature  is  the  only  book  which  has  some 
great  truth  to  offer  on  every  page.  Mineralogy,  geology, 
zoology,  and  botany  engage  his  attention  in  every  nook  and 
comer  of  the  region  so  remarkable  and  rich  in  its  natural 
history,  and  it  doubtless  happened  that  while  his  friends 
were  amusing  themselves  with  their  ladies  in  frolicsome 
games  on  the  shore,  he  stepped  aside  to  hammer  at  rocks 
and  investigate  their  composition  or  to  collect  plants  and 
marine  animals.  Vesuvius,  at  that  time  in  violent  eruption, 
claimed  the  lion's  share  of  his  scientific  interest.  Three 
different  times  he  ascended  to  the  summit,  and  even  in  the 
presence  of  evident  danger  ventured  boldly  on  that  he  might 
take  accurate  observations  of  the  volcanic  phenomena. 

In  the  Portici  Museum,  where  the  articles  excavated  in 
Herculaneum  were  kept,  as  well  as  in  Pompeii  and  Passtum, 
he  formed  valuable  impressions  of  art  and  antiquities.  In 
Paestimi  he  for  the  first  time  stood  in  the  presence  of  genuine 
Greek  antiquity,  at  least  in  the  temple  of  Poseidon,  which 
is  older  than  the  Parthenon,  and  undoubtedly  owes  its 
origin  to  the  pure  Greek  art  of  Lower  Italy.  At  first  the 
severe  Doric  style,  with  the  closely  crowded  pillars  in  the 
shape  of  a  truncated  cone,  seemed  to  him,  accustomed  to 
the  neater  forms  of  later  periods,  wearisome,  indeed  terrible. 
But  in  less  than  an  hour  he  felt  on  friendly  terms  with  the 
style  and  praised  his  genius  for  having  let  him  behold  with 
his  own  eyes  these  well-preserved  ruins.  Evidently  it  was 
the  glorious  temple  of  Poseidon  which  aroused  in  him  this 
sentiment.  Its  pillars  have,  to  be  sure,  the  full  force  of 
the  Doric  style,  but  with  this  force  is  combined  a  nobility  of 
proportion  which  lends  them  a  stamp  of  solemn  beauty.  The 
excessive  bulging  and  tapering  of  the  pillars  of  the  neigh- 
bouring temples,  on  the  other  hand,  gives  them  a  massive 
conical  form  which,  at  a  short  distance,  is  felt  as  wearisome. 

For  five  weeks  Goethe  had  allowed  himself  to  be  held  by 
the  charms  of  seductive  Parthenope.     It  was  now  time  to 


lltalp  397 

take  the  journey  to  Sicily  which  he  had  meanwhile  firmly 
determined  upon.  As  Tischbein  had  business  to  attend  to 
in  Naples  Goethe  was  obliged  to  seek  some  other  fellow 
traveller.  His  choice  fell  upon  Kniep,  who  was  of  about  his 
own  age,  and  on  the  excursions  m  the  environs  of  Naples 
had  proved  a  valuable  companion,  because  of  his  agreeable 
nature  and  his  cleverness  in  free-hand  drawing. 

In  joyful  expectation  Goethe  embarked  on  the  vessel 
which  was  to  take  him  to  Sicily.  "Sicily  directs  my 
thoughts  to  Asia  and  Africa,  and  it  is  no  trifling  matter  to 
stand  upon  the  wonderful  spot  toward  which  so  many  radii 
of  the  world's  history  converge."  He  also  wished  to  try 
a  sea  voyage,  as  he  had  no  conception  of  what  it  was  like. 
His  enjoyment  of  it,  however,  was  very  moderate.  Nowa- 
days, even  with  an  unfavourable  wind,  one  crosses  over 
from  Naples  to  Palermo  in  a  little  over  twelve  hours.  It 
took  Goethe  four  days  to  make  the  journey,  and  seasickness 
compelled  him  to  spend  most  of  the  time  in  his  cabin.  After 
the  confinement  and  discomfort  of  the  voyage  he  was  all  the 
more  deeply  impressed  with  the  landscape  about  Palermo 
as  it  lay  before  him  in  the  luxurious  garb  of  spring,  and  in 
the  most  favourable  light.  He  could  find  no  words  to  ex- 
press the  clearness  of  the  contours,  the  softness  of  the  whole 
scene,  and  the  harmony  of  earth,  sea,  and  sky.  He  was 
greeted  by  the  fresh  foliage  of  mulberry  trees,  evergreen 
oleanders,  lemon  hedges,  blossoming  buttercups,  and  anem- 
ones. The  air  was  mild,  warm,  and  fragrant;  and  above 
the  scene  the  full  moon  arose  from  behind  the  foothills  and 
glistened  upon  the  sea.  To  him  the  most  wonderful  thing 
in  the  city  itself  was  the  public  garden  (Flora,  or  Villa 
Giulia)  down  by  the  roadstead.  When  he  there  strolled 
about  through  the  arbours  of  orange  and  lemon  trees,  and 
his  eyes  fell  upon  rare  plants  he  had  never  before  seen ;  when 
the  dark  blue  waves  surged  into  the  coves  along  the  bay, 
and  the  odour  of  the  sea-water  was  wafted  up  toward  him, 
he  believed  himself  transported  to  the  island  of  the  blissful 
Phaeacians.  The  plot  which  he  had  sketched  for  a  Nausikaa- 
drama,  in  which  the  Phaeacian  princess  was  to  meet  with  a 


398  ^be  Xife  of  (Boetbe 

tragic  fate  because  of  her  unhappy  love  for  Odysseus,  was 
again  taken  up  and  more  carefully  worked  over,  indeed 
some  passages  were  finished.  He  desired  that  the  atmo- 
sphere of  nature  in  the  poem  should  be  a  memento  of  his 
life  on  the  island  of  Sicily.  Unfortunately,  the  drama  never 
progressed  in  written  form  beyond  the  beginning  made  in 
Palermo.  Not  only  the  poet,  but  the  scientist  as  well  was 
aroused  in  him  by  this  fairy  garden.  The  manifold  plant 
forms  reminded  him  of  his  theory  of  the  Urpfianze,  which  he 
had  worked  at  continuously  in  Italy.  Might  not  this  orig- 
inal type,  from  which  all  the  different  species  of  plants  have 
sprung,  be  discovered  among  the  multitudinous  varieties? 
That  there  must  be  such  a  plant  he  had  no  doubt.  How 
else  could  we  recognise,  he  reasons,  that  this  or  that  object 
is  a  plant?  His  supersensible  Urpfianze,  however,  could  not 
be  discovered  in  any  sensible  form;  but  his  investigations 
strengthened  him  in  his  conviction  of  the  correctness  and 
fertility  of  the  idea.  The  mineralogist  in  him  vied  with  the 
botanist  in  making  the  most  of  his  sojourn  in  Palermo.  He 
prosecuted  his  studies  diligently  in  the  gravel  of  brooks,  in 
the  stone  quarries,  and  in  the  workshops  of  stone  poHshers, 
adding  greatly  to  his  store  of  knowledge  and  to  his  collec- 
tions of  specimens.  His  artistic  sense,  on  the  other  hand, 
found  little  to  occupy  it.  Of  antique  art  there  was  little 
in  the  region,  and  still  less  was  accessible  to  tourists.  He 
cared  nothing  whatever  for  Arabian-Norman  art,  peculiar 
and  tasteful  as  it  appears  in  the  Capella  Palatina  and  in 
the  Monreale  Cathedral.  He  declared  that  the  people  of 
modern  Palermo  had  no  taste  whatever,  and  in  the  irra- 
tional design  and  ornamentation  of  the  Villa  Palagonia  * 
he  saw  the  general  lack  of  taste  most  strikingly  exemplified. 
The  scarcity  of  objets  d'art  did  not  detract  from  his  enjoy- 
ment of  Palermo.  Nature  offered  enough  to  satisfy  the 
poet,  painter,  and  investigator;  in  addition  he  found  most 
agreeable  entertainment  in  the  people,  from  the  viceroy 
down  to  the  adventurer  Cagliostro's  poor  but  pious  family, 

*  For  interesting  details  concerning  this  most  fantastic  abode  of  a 
most  whimsical  prince  cf.  H.,  xxiv.,  766  ff. — C. 


fltall?  399 

whom  he  visited  at  first  from  curiosity,  but  later  out  of  a 
genuine  interest,  which  prompted  him  to  lend  them  assist- 
ance. When  he  took  leave  of  the  city  and  its  wonderful 
garden  he  declared  that  probably  in  all  his  life  he  had  not 
been  as  serenely  happy  for  sixteen  days  consecutively  as  he 
had  been  there. 

He  left  the  city  on  the  1 8th  of  April  in  company  with  his 
friend  Kniep.  The  travellers  first  went  to  Segesta  to  see  a 
temple  and  an  ancient  theatre,  and  then  rode  three  days 
through  sparsely  inhabited  regions,  the  geological  and  agri- 
cultural conditions  of  which  occupied  Goethe's  attention, 
and  arrived  in  Girgenti  on  the  southern  coast.  The 
beautiful  situation  and  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  Greek  city 
occasioned  a  stay  of  several  days.  To  Goethe's  mind  the 
so-called  temple  of  Concordia,  with  its  pleasing  lines,  was 
related  to  the  temples  of  Paestum  as  the  figure  of  a  god  to 
that  of  a  giant.  But  when  he  returned  to  Paestum  after  his 
Sicilian  journey  he  recognised  that  the  temple  of  Poseidon 
ranked  far  above  all  those  of  Sicily. 

The  travellers  had  originally  intended  to  go  from  Gir- 
genti to  Syracuse.  But  as  Goethe  washed  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  Sicily  as  the  granary  of  Rome,  and  had  found 
out  that  the  real  grain-fields  extended  over  the  interior  of 
the  island,  he  gave  up  Syracuse  and  traversed  the  island  in 
the  direction  of  Catania.  His  desire  was  more  than  sat- 
isfied. For  four  days  the  wheat-fields  and  barley-fields 
stretched  on  in  tmiform  fruitfulness,  and  the  dreamy  com- 
position of  his  Nausikaa  was  the  only  thing  that  was  able 
to  make  the  poet  oblivious  to  the  discomforts  of  the  tedious 
ride,  the  bad  roads,  and  the  still  worse  quarters.  On  the 
2nd  of  May  they  arrived  in  Catania.  Long  before  they 
reached  their  destination  the  snow-capped  peak  of  Mt. 
^tna  had  beckoned  to  them  through  the  clouds  and  in- 
spired Goethe  with  a  yearning  desire  to  ascend  it.  But, 
heeding  the  earnest  warnings  of  the  natives  that  the  season 
was  not  favourable,  they  contented  themselves  for  the  time 
being  with  ascending  as  far  as  Monte  Rosso,  a  secondary 
crater  of  ^tna,   where  they  encountered  such  a   violent 


400  z\)c  %\fc  Of  (Boetbe 

storm  that  Kniep  remained  below  the  summit  and  Goethe 
was  in  danger  of  being  blown  down  the  mountain-side. 
Further  climbing  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  From  Catania 
they  followed  the  coast  northward.  They  were  enthusiastic 
over  Taormina,  but  were  horrified  at  the  sight  of  Messina, 
which  had  been  so  terribly  devastated  by  an  earthquake 
four  years  before.  Because  of  the  deserted  appearance  of 
the  city,  with  its  population  for  the  most  part  still  living  in 
wooden  booths  outside  the  gates,  they  decided  to  enter  as 
soon  as  possible  upon  the  return  joiuney  to  Naples. 

On  the  entire  Sicilian  journey  Goethe  had  opened  up  his 
soul  almost  exclusively  to  the  influences  of  Nature.  She 
had  aroused  him  to  manifold  observations,  scarcely  in- 
dicated here,  which  gave  him  a  clear  picture  of  the  island 
for  his  permanent  possession.  To  be  sure,  it  was  only  a 
picture  of  the  Sicily  of  that  day.  He  obstinately  refused  to 
supplement  it  on  the  historical  side,  much  as  he  may  have 
been  tempted  to  do  so  by  the  varied  and  peculiarly  fantastic 
history  of  the  island.  How  differently  the  poet  of  the  Braut 
von  Messina  and  the  Burgschaft  would  have  acted!  Here, 
again,  we  observe  one  of  Goethe's  noteworthy  peculiari- 
ties. In  Rome  he  felt  the  need  of  enlivening  the  ruins  by 
means  of  history ;  here  he  felt  the  need  of  holding  the  ghosts 
of  the  past  at  a  distance  from  the  blooming  fields.  When, 
in  a  beautiful  valley  near  Palermo,  the  guide  was  about 
to  tell  him  of  the  battles  that  had  there  been  fought  be- 
tween the  Romans  and  the  Carthaginians,  he  was  vexed, 
and  interrupted  him,  saying:  "It  is  bad  enough  that  from 
time  to  time  the  grain  has  been  trampled  down,  if  not 
always  by  elephants,  at  any  rate  by  horses  and  men;  one 
should  at  least  refrain  from  frightening  the  imagination  out 
of  its  peaceful  dream  by  such  echoes  of  past  turmoil." 
Goethe  was  a  master  of  the  art  of  enjoying,  or,  more  cor- 
rectly, of  the  art  of  admitting  harmonies  into  his  own  soul, 
that  he  might  give  them  back  to  the  world  in  a  more  enjoy- 
able form. 

The  homeward  voyage  proved  to  be  more  disagreeable 
than  the  outward  passage  had  been.     The  wind  was  bad, 


the  ship  iincomfortable,  overfilled  with  passengers,  and  in 
the  charge  of  a  captain  and  mate  in  whose  technical  know- 
ledge the  natives  had  no  confidence.  On  the  evening  of 
the  third  day  they  were  between  Capri  and  Cape  Minerva.* 
The  wind  had  become  completely  still.  The  commotion 
among  the  passengers  was  all  the  more  violent.  They 
thought  that  the  ship,  through  the  awkwardness  of  the 
captain,  had  drifted  into  a  current  that  flows  around  Capri, 
and  was  in  danger  of  being  stranded  on  the  rocks  of  the 
island.  The  nearer  the  danger  the  greater  the  excitement. 
Everybody  was  up  on  the  deck  and  clamouring  at  the  cap- 
tain, who  seemed  still  to  be  thinking  of  some  way  to  save 
the  vessel.  In  this  predicament  Goethe  was  no  longer  able 
to  remain  passive.  He  recognised  that  the  clamouring  was 
more  dangerous  than  the  rocks,  because  it  confused  the 
crew.  He  laid  this  before  the  passengers  with  great  em- 
phasis, and,  with  his  gift  of  striking  at  the  proper  moment 
the  right  tone  for  everybody,  he  admonished  the  credulous 
South  Italians :  "  Direct  your  fervent  prayers  to  the  Mother 
of  God,  upon  whom  alone  everything  depends,  and  implore 
her  to  interpose  with  her  Son,  that  he  may  do  for  you  what 
he  did  in  the  olden  days  for  his  apostles,  when  the  waves  of 
the  stormy  Sea  of  Galilee  were  beginning  to  dash  into  the 
boat.  The  Lord  was  asleep,  but  when  the  despairing, 
helpless  ones  aroused  him,  he  immediately  commanded  the 
wind  to  be  still,  just  as  he  now  can  command  the  air  to 
stir,  if  it  be  his  holy  will."  Goethe's  intervention,  a  scene 
worthy  to  be  immortalised  by  the  brush  of  an  artist,  pro- 
duced a  most  desirable  effect.  The  people  calmed  down 
and  prayed.  At  length  a  gentle  breeze  actually  arose  and 
drove  the  ship  out  of  the  dangerous  current.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  the  fourth  day  (May  14th)  the  vessel  landed  in 
Naples. 

Here  Goethe  again  passed  three  beautiful  weeks.  After 
the  loneliness  of  Sicily  the  gay,  half-Oriental  swarm  of 
people  in  the  great  city  of  approximately  400,000  souls  took 

*  Cape  Minerva,  the  south-east  point  of  the  Gulf  of  Naples,  is  now 
called  Punta  della  Campanella»     Cf.  H.,  xxiv.,  214. — C. 

VOL.   I.  —  26. 


402  ^be  Xlfe  of  Goetbe 

on  a  new  interest  for  him.  The  chattering,  bargaining, 
pleasure-loving,  ragged,  apparently  idle,  but  really  busy 
people,  who  day-in  and  day-out  loll  about  in  throngs  in  the 
narrow  streets,  he  studied  in  the  many  varied  phases  of  their 
life  with  as  much  care  as  he  bestowed  upon  the  investigation 
of  plants  and  rocks.  The  vivid  descriptions,  the  fine  ob- 
servations which  resulted  from  these  studies  are  well  known. 
He  judges  of  the  life  of  the  city  as  a  whole  more  as  a  poet 
and  a  painter  than  as  an  economist  and  a  statesman,  when 
he  says:  "  It  is  a  glorious  sight,  but  one  must  not  apply  to 
it  the  police  standards  of  northern  morality."  Just  as  he 
now  devotes  himself  to  the  multitude  more  than  during  his 
previous  sojourn,  so  does  he  also  to  individuals.  He  enters 
upon  an  extensive  round  of  social  functions,  including  recep- 
tions in  the  royal  palace,  and  it  is  these  pleasures  which 
make  him  loth  to  part  from  the  city.  But  time  presses. 
He  plans  to  be  on  the  other  side  of  the  Alps  at  the  end  of 
August,  and  meanwhile  to  spend  another  month  in  Rome,  and 
see  Florence,  Parma,  and  Milan  on  the  homeward  way.  On 
the  3rd  of  June,  after  a  touching  farewell  from  his  good  friend 
Kniep,  he  leaves  Naples ;  on  the  6th  he  is  again  in  Rome. 

His  fixed  purpose  to  enter  upon  the  return  journey  in 
July  melted  away  the  moment  he  again  entered  the  world- 
metropolis.  In  July  he  postponed  his  departure  to  the  end 
of  August,  and  in  August  to  the  following  Easter.  Life  in 
Rome  assumed  for  him  a  sweeter  aspect  than  ever  before. 
"  How  shall  I  leave  the  only  place  in  all  the  world  which  can 
become  a  paradise  for  me?"  "I  find  here  the  fulfilment 
of  all  my  desires  and  dreams.  Every  day  my  health  of 
body  and  soul  seems  to  improve,  and  soon  I  shall  have 
nothing  to  desire  but  the  continuation  of  my  condition." 
Thus  he  writes  in  July  to  his  friend,  the  composer  Kayser. 
The  fulfilment  of  all  his  desires  and  dreams  meant  more 
now  than  the  mere  seeing  of  the  works  of  art  and  the  places 
which  since  his  early  youth  had  had  such  an  attraction  for 
him ;  it  meant  the  living  as  an  artist  and  a  poet  in  the  midst 
of  this  magnificent  environment.  He  had  broadened  his 
program  to  include  these  factors.     His  intention  was  to 


make  use  of  the  ten  months  of  his  second  sojourn  in  Rome 
to  train  his  little  "  talentlet  for  drawing"  and  to  complete 
the  literary  works  already  begim  and  those  projected, 
namely:   Egmont,  Tasso,  and  Faust. 

His  artistic  education,  which  had  occupied  his  thought 
during  the  whole  of  his  previous  life,  he  now  took  up  with 
extraordinary  seriousness  and  thoroughness,  and  many  of 
his  confessions  show  clearly  that  it  was  not  his  sole  aim  to 
attain  to  a  higher  degree  of  skill  as  a  dilettante,  and  thus  to 
a  greater  enjoyment  of  painting,  but  that  his  desire  to  be  a 
creative  artist,  combined  with  his  unusual  talent  for  seeing 
everything  real  as  a  picture,  and  the  encouraging  praise  of 
his  friends  in  Rome,  induced  him  to  attempt  to  make  of 
himself  a  painter  as  well  as  a  poet. 

So  he  began  with  the  study  of  architecture  and  perspec- 
tive, and  the  composition  and  colouring  of  landscape,  then 
drew  landscapes  from  nature,  passing  finally  to  the  human 
figure,  which  he  sought  to  master  in  all  its  parts  by  means 
of  drawing,  supplemented  to  some  extent  by  modelling.  He 
carried  on  these  studies  with  enthusiastic  zeal,  having 
Heinrich  Meyer  as  his  most  valued  guide.  As  a  dilettante 
he  made  excellent  progress.  From  the  laboured  drawing  of 
characteristic  outlines  he  rose  to  careful  execution  of  de- 
tails and  plastic  composition.  But  the  fervent  prayer  which 
he  had  raised  to  Heaven  in  his  early  years, 

0,  bap  bie  innre  @d)opfimc|eifrnft 
T^urd)  mcincn  Sinn  crfrf)oIIc! 
T^ni'5  einc  S^ilbung  noUer  3aft 
5liis^  mcinen  g-ingern  quoUc!* 

was  even  now  unanswered.  He  was  confronted  with  the 
conviction  that  the  most  perfect  appreciation  of  art  is  not 
equivalent  to  creative  genius.  This,  however,  had  its  good 
side.  After  years  of  torturing  doubt  he  had  arrived  at  the 
peaceful  assurance  that  he  was  not  bom  a  painter. 

^  *  O  would  creative  fancy  thrill 

My  senses  through  and  through! 
Inspire  my  hand  to  paint  with  skill 
Life's  picture  full  and  true! 


404  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boctbe 

His  diligent  measuring,  drawing,  and  modelling  had  the 
further  advantage  that  he  learned  better  than  ever  before 
to  see  works  of  art.  Indeed  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were 
only  now  beginning  thoroughly  to  see  and  enjoy  the  highest 
in  art,  such  as  antique  sculpture.  If  his  enthusiasm  for 
the  antique  was  at  all  capable  of  further  development,  it 
grew  during  his  second  sojourn  in  Rome,  especially  after  he 
had  seen  drawings  of  the  Parthenon  sculptures.  "If  one 
were  to  see  the  masterpieces  of  the  ancient  artists,"  he  re- 
marks in  a  letter  written  at  this  time,  "one  would  have 
nothing  to  desire  but  rightly  to  know  them,  and  depart  in 
peace."  "  These  great  works  of  art  are  at  the  same  time  the 
highest  works  of  nature,  produced  by  man  in  accordance  with 
true  and  natural  laws ;  everything  capricious  and  imaginary 
falls  to  the  ground;  here  is  necessity,  here  is  God." 

Aside  from  antique  art,  it  is  at  first  especially  the  pic- 
tures of  Michael  Angelo  in  the  Sistine  Chapel  which  inspire 
him  to  new  admiration  and  deep  study ;  and  he  still  ranks 
the  Titanic  Florentine  above  Raphael.  Not  until  the  end 
of  his  sojourn  is  a  change  noticeable.  Raphael  begins  to 
gain  on  Michael  Angelo,  and  we  begin  to  have  a  presenti- 
ment that  the  time  is  approaching  when  Goethe  will  put, 
not  only  the  daring  grandeur  of  Michael  Angelo,  but,  as  in 
former  days,  the  quiet  greatness  of  Raphael  on  an  equality 
with  the  antique. 

As  if  to  fill  up  a  gap  and  complete  the  circle  of  the  arts 
about  our  poet  in  Rome,  music  began  to  engage  his  atten- 
tion more  prominently  than  hitherto.  His  old  boyhood 
acquaintance,  Kayser,  who  had  been  several  years  compos- 
ing the  music  to  his  operetta  Scherz,  List  und  Rache,  finished 
it  in  the  autumn  of  1787,  and  Goethe  now  had  several  new 
tasks  for  him.  He  was  to  help  recast  the  older  operettas, 
Clatuiine  von  Villa  Bella  and  Erwin  und  Elmire,  and  com- 
pose the  music  to  Egmont,  and  to  a  genuine  opera  buffa, 
which  Goethe  had  planned  to  base  on  the  famous  "diamond 
necklace"  intrigue. 

Kayser  arrived  in  Rome  at  the  end  of  October  and  be- 
came the  fourth  member  of  the  household  of  artists  on  the 


Iltalp  405 

Corso  incontro  Rondanini.  Here  not  only  was  his  own 
music  to  Goethe's  works  discussed  and  rehearsed,  but  all 
the  music  heard  in  theatres  or  churches,  or  discovered  by 
him  in  libraries,  received  due  attention;  and  from  the 
merry  artists'  lodge  pious  old  church  melodies  not  infre- 
quently rang  out  into  the  street.  In  this  roundabout  way 
Goethe  acquired  some  taste  for  the  theatre,  and  even  more 
for  the  great  church  ceremonies,  which  he  had  hitherto  been 
unable  to  enjoy  because  he  had  too  little  of  the  feeling  of  a 
child  and  of  a  sensuous  man  to  take  any  dehght  in  the 
beautiful  illusion. 

If,  in  addition  to  these  manifold  art  studies,  one  takes 
into  account  the  great  amount  of  Hterary  work  which 
Goethe  imposed  upon  himself,  and  the  botanical  investiga- 
tions which  he  passionately  pursued,  and  for  which  he  every- 
where collected  material,  one  is  willing  to  believe  him  when 
he  says  that  he  hardly  ever  spent  his  time  in  more  pains- 
taking work  than  during  this  second  sojourn  in  Rome.  If 
he  hoped  to  accomplish,  even  approximately,  aU  the  tasks 
which  he  had  set  for  himself,  he  had  to  follow  the  practice  of 
his  first  sojourn,  and  keep  away  from  the  world  and  the 
society  of  women.  In  the  former  he  succeeded  wholly,  in 
the  latter  only  partly.  In  Naples  and  Sicily  he  had  under- 
gone a  change.  His  heart  refused  longer  to  be  satisfied 
with  friendlv  letters  and  loving  intercourse  at  a  distance, 
and  wanton,  wayward  Cupid  found  him  a  more  willing 
victim.  On  an  autumn  sojourn  in  the  country,  in  Castel 
Gandolfo,  while  Goethe  was  drawing  landscapes  from 
nature,  Maddalena  Riggi,^^  a  beautiful  Milanese,  captivated 
him  unawares  with  her  blue  eyes  and  graceful  manner. 
But  she  was  betrothed.  He  remembered  his  serious  prin- 
ciples, and  was  not  disposed  to  play  the  Wetzlar  role  a 
second  time.  A  protracted  illness  deprived  him  of  her 
society  for  a  time.  After  her  recovery  he  met  her  again  at 
the  carnival  in  Rome  and  thought  her  more  beautiful  than 
ever.  Her  engagement  had  meanwhile  been  broken,  and 
Goethe,  seeing  that  she  returned  his  affection,  was  almost 
tempted  to  aUow  his  relation  to  her  to  assume  a  more  serious 


4o6  Zbc  Xife  of  (Boctbe 

aspect.  But  his  better  judgment  conquered  the  increased 
temptation  and  prevented  his  carrying  the  Nausikaa 
tragedy  from  the  realm  of  fancy  into  that  of  reality.  Only 
in  the  moment  of  parting  did  his  lips  and  hers  disclose  their 
secrets,  and  the  words  which  fell  were  so  tender  and  sincere 
that  Goethe,  after  forty  years  had  intervened,  was  still  un- 
willing to  desecrate  them  by  repeating  them  to  others. 

While  the  graceful  Maddalena  had  touched  the  finer 
chords  of  his  emotional  nature,  Faustina,  with  whom  he 
associated  during  his  last  months  in  Rome,  appealed  to  his 
coarser  instincts.  Her  poetic  glorification  is  to  be  foimd  in 
the  Romische  ElegienP 

The  combined  effect  of  climate,  poetry,  music,  art,  an- 
tiquities, freedom,  sociability,  and  love  raised  Goethe  to  a 
culmination  of  happiness  ^^  from  which  he  henceforth  pro- 
posed to  measure  the  fortunes  of  his  life. 

At  this  height  his  sojourn  in  Rome  ended. 

Easter  (1788)  was  approaching,  the  time  for  his  departure 

from  the  dear  city.     "  In  every  great  separation  there  lies  a 

germ  of  madness.     One  must  take  care  not  to  brood  over  it 

and   cherish   it."     In   these   few   words   Goethe   has   well 

characterised   his   all-absorbing  mood   during  these   days. 

His  departure  from  Rome  was  inaugurated  with  solemnity. 

During  his  last  nights  in  the  city  the  full  moon  shone  out  of 

a  clear  sky.     He  felt  drawn  once  more  to  approach  the 

great  monuments  of  antiquity  which  had  by  moonlight  so 

often  filled  him  with  exalted  emotion.     He  wended  his  way 

to  the  Capitol,  the   Forum,  and  the   Colosseum,  and  the 

sorrowful  lamentations  of  Ovid,  who  was  banished  from 

Rome  on  a  moonlight  night,  were  a  true  expression  of  his 

feelings : 

Cum  subit  illius  tristissima  noctis  imago, 

Qua  mihi  supremum  tempus  in  urbc  fuit, 

Cum  repeto  noctem,  qua  tot  mihi  cara  rcliqui, 

Labitur  ex  oculis  nunc  quoque  gutta  meis.* 

*  When  before  me  arises  that  saddest  of  scenes,  the  evening, 
Which  of  my  Hfe  was  the  last  spent  in  the  city  of  Rome, 
When  I  recall  that  night  and  the  many  dear  things  left  behind  me, 
Even  though  years  intervene,  still  come  the  tears  to  my  eyes. 


On  the  23rd.  of  April  the  poet  drove  out  through  the 
same  Porto  del  Popolo  through  which,  eighteen  months 
before,  he  had  so  joyfully  entered.  He  was  not  the  sole 
mourner;  the  whole  circle  of  friends  ^^  in  Rome,  to  whom 
he  had  gradually  become  a  friend,  brother,  leader,  prophet, 
demigod,  mingled  their  sorrow  with  his.  Nothing  could  be 
more  touching  or  more  glorifying  for  the  departing  one 
than  the  lamentations  which  followed  him  on  his  way. 
Young  Bury,  his  house-companion,  was  dissolved  in  tears; 
Meyer  WTote  dolefully :  "The  best  fortime  of  my  life  is  lost.  " 
Verschaffelt,  his  teacher  in  perspective:  "Every  day  I  feel 
the  loss  of  your  presence  here.  .  .  .  The  day  of  your 
departure  w^as  to  me  unbearable,  I  was  not  good  for  any- 
thing"; Moritz  longs  to  see  the  eye,  "which  has  so  often 
perceived  and  harmonised  all  the  beauties  that  I  see  about 
me  here";  and  noble  x\ngeUka:  "Your  departure  from  us 
completely  absorbed  my  heart  and  soul.  .  .  ,  The  23rd 
of  last  month,  the  fatal  day,  threw  me  into  a  state  of  sad- 
ness from  which  I  cannot  recover.  .  .  .  Councillor 
ReifTenstein  and  Abbate  Spina  both  love  you,  but  how  can 
they  help  it?  ...  A  few  days  ago  I  went  with  Zucchi 
to  your  house.     I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  a  holy  place." 

On  the  return  journey  Goethe  made  his  first  long  stay 
in  Florence,  where  he  had  made  but  a  flying  visit  on  his 
journey  southward.  He  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  rich  art 
treasures  of  the  Tuscan  capital,  and  again  it  was  an  antique 
statue,  the  Medicean  Venus,  which  triumphed  victoriously 
over  all  others.  He  spent  a  great  part  of  his  time  in  the 
pleasure  gardens  and  ornamental  parks  of  the  city,  working 
at  Tasso,  which  was  especially  near  to  his  heart  at  this  time 
because  in  it  he  could  give  poetic  expression  to  his  own 
sorrow  while  depicting  that  of  "  a  passionate  soul  irresistibly 
drawn  to  an  irrevocable  banishment."  From  Florence  he 
went  to  Parma,  where  he  enjoyed  the  Correggios,  and 
thence  to  Milan.  The  Cathedral  of  Milan  aroused  his  old 
antipathy  for  Gothic  art,  whereas  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  Last 
Supper  gave  him  the  highest  pleasure.  The  sight  of  the 
Alps  reminded  him  that  he  would  now  soon  leave  Italy 


4o8  ^be  %\tc  of  (Boetbc 

behind.  If  he  was  to  draw  no  further  enjoyment  from  the 
chiselled  products  of  stone  he  would  at  least  seek  comfort  in 
the  raw  material.  So  he  bought  himself  a  hammer  with  which 
to  break  the  rocks  and  drive  away  the  bitterness  of  death. 

From  Milan  he  probably  went  by  way  of  Lago  Maggiore, 
whose  shore  he  made  the  home  of  Mignon,  and  over  the  Splii- 
gen  Pass  to  Lake  Constance.  In  Constance  he  was  awaited 
by  his  Zurich  friend,  Barbara  Schulthess,  who  clung  to  him 
with  sentimental  devotion.  He  spent  several  days  with  her 
and  then  continued  his  journey  via  Augsburg  and  Nurem- 
berg. Late  in  the  evening  of  the  i8th  of  Jime,  Goethe, 
accompanied  by  Kayser,  whom  he  had  brought  along  from 
Rome,  returned  once  more  to  the  quiet  little  country  town 
on  the  Ilm,  after  an  absence  of  almost  two  years. 

No  one  event  in  Goethe's  life  was  a  greater  determining 
factor  than  his  Italian  journey.  It  made  him  a  new  man, 
ridding  him  of  all  nervousness  and  disease.  Melancholy 
expectation  of  an  early  death,  which  seemed  preferable  to 
a  continuation  of  the  life  he  had  been  leading,  gave  way  to 
an  admirable  cheerfulness  and  enjoyment  of  life.  The 
deeply  serious,  silent  man  whose  grave  thoughts  never  left 
him,  even  in  society,  had  become  as  merry  as  a  child.  It 
is  refreshing  to  hear  him  laugh  in  the  popular  theatres  of 
Venice  and  Naples,  refreshing  to  see  with  what  delight  he 
eats  his  figs  on  Lago  di  Garda,  or  his  grapes  in  the  market- 
place of  Vicenza.  All  his  senses  have  been  aroused  to  new 
life.  With  the  same  degree  of  sensuous  pleasure  with 
which  he  eats  the  fruits  of  the  southland,  he  listens  to 
the  soft  melodies  of  the  night,  gazes  on  the  splendour  of  the 
clear  sky,  basks  in  the  soft  winds,  feasts  his  eyes  on  the 
endless  wealth  of  form  and  colour  which  nature  and  art 
have  lavished  upon  the  Italian  landscape,  and  revels  in  the 
charms  of  the  happiness  of  love.  He  again  manifests  a 
fondness  for  all  that  is  natural  and  human.  Aristocratic 
society  he  avoids,  and  the  common  people,  with  whom  he 
had  come  into  touch  in  Weimar  only  as  a  ruler  and  a  bene- 
factor, he  seeks  out  and  approaches  on  terms  of  equality. 


Every  beggar  is  his  friend.  And  whereas  in  Weimar  he 
had  permitted  only  Frau  von  Stein  and  Herder  to  invade  his 
domestic  solitude,  in  Rome  he  Hves  as  a  student  with  yoimg 
artists  and  authors,  associates  with  them  in  the  streets  and 
public  squares,  in  museums  and  wine-rooms,  and  shares 
with  them  his  lodgings  and  his  table. 

Here  in  Rome  he  was  able  to  round  out  his  life  and  ex- 
pand. His  world-spirit  found  for  the  first  time  in  the 
world-capital  a  congenial  atmosphere  and  environment. 
Here,  where  the  whole  world,  past  and  present,  crowded  in 
upon  him,  he  discovered  what  a  world-wide  grasp  his  spirit 
was  capable  of,  and  what  a  joy  it  was  to  be  incited  to  ex- 
pand to  the  utmost.  "  I  have  long  wished  for  such  an  ele- 
ment, that  I,  too,  might  swim  and  not  always  wade" 
(November  24,  1786).  "I  feel  the  healthfulness  of  my 
nature  and  how  it  is  growing ;  my  feet  get  sore  only  when  in 
tight  shoes;  and  I  see  nothing  when  I  am  placed  before  a 
wall"  (Christmas,  1787). 

Inasmuch  as  Goethe  was  entirely  at  liberty  in  Italy,  and 
lived  absolutely  according  to  his  own  will  and  desires,  he 
could  not  ascribe  to  others  or  to  circtmistances  anything 
that  disturbed  him.  He  was  obliged  to  look  into  his  own 
heart,  and  so  had  occasion  to  become  thoroughly  ac- 
quainted with  himself,  and  where  meditation  failed  to  lead 
to  a  knowledge  of  himself,  he  was  guided  by  his  failures,  as 
in  the  case  of  painting.  The  time  passed  away  when  he 
"buried  himself  in  quiet  contemplation  of  his  ego  in  order 
to  spy  out  the  gloomy  ways  of  his  dissatisfied  spirit."  He 
arrived  at  a  clear  understanding  of  himself  and  the  ways  he 
must  pursue :  above  all  else  he  recognised  that  his  peculiar, 
first,  and  most  important  calling  was  not  that  of  a  states- 
man, nor  of  a  painter  or  scientist,  but  that  of  a  poet;  and 
this  clear  imderstanding  led  to  harmony  of  character,  re- 
soluteness, and  happiness.  To  use  one  of  his  own  words  he 
became  "complete"  (ganz)^^  and  sufficient  unto  himself. 
He  no  longer  needed  others,  as  heretofore,  to  supplement  his 
powers,  nor  as  guides  and  confessors  for  periods  of  darkness 
and  confusion. 


4IO  ^be  %\tc  of  Ooetbe 

What  he  gained  as  a  man  he  gained  as  a  poet.  With  his 
enjoyment  of  life  he  recovered  also  his  power  of  poetic 
creation.  Scarcely  was  he  relieved  of  the  pressure  of  busi- 
ness and  vexation  when  the  foimtains  of  his  poetic  nature 
burst  forth  pure  and  abimdant.  In  the  midst  of  the  en- 
grossing claims  of  art,  nature,  and  life  he  completed  Iphi- 
genie  and  Egmont,  entirely  recast  Erwin  and  Claudine,  made 
considerable  progress  with  Tasso  in  its  new  form,  and,  what 
is  the  most  convincing  evidence  of  the  youthful  freshness  of 
his  poetic  talent,  not  only  took  up  Faust  again,  which  he 
had  not  touched  for  twelve  years,  but  even  boasted  he  would 
finish  the  gigantic  work  in  Rome.  At  the  same  time  his 
mind  was  occupied  with  the  development  of  former  great 
plans,  such  as  Der  ewige  Jude,  and  the  outlining  of  new 
great  ones,  such  as  Iphigenie  in  Delphi  and  Nausikaa,  or 
smaller  ones,  such  as  the  opera  buff  a  which  he  later  recast 
as  Der  Gross-Cophta. 

As  his  poetic  fertility  reminds  us  of  his  youth,  so  also 
does  his  poetic  manner.  He  had  been  in  a  fair  way  to  be- 
come seraphic.  Through  the  asceticism  and  martyrdom  of 
his  last  years  in  Weimar  he  had  become  more  and  more 
highly  spiritualised.  Poems  such  as  Iphigenie,  Tasso,  die 
Geheimnisse,  or  the  projected  novel,  Uher  das  Weltall,  give 
an  approximate  idea  of  the  trend  of  his  poetry,  and,  but 
for  Italy,  this  trend  would  have  been  followed  with  increas- 
ing one-sidedness.  Wilhelm  Meister  should  not  be  cited  to 
prove  the  contrary ;  for,  in  the  first  place,  its  beginnings  go 
back  to  Frankfort,  and,  secondly,  we  do  not  know  what  it 
was  like  in  the  earlier  redaction.  Furthermore,  even  in  the 
later  redaction,  the  asceticism  from  which  Wilhelm  suffers 
for  years  is  characteristic  of  the  first  Weimar  period.  There 
are  probably  many  who  regret  that  Goethe  did  not  keep  to 
those  ethereal,  spiritual,  and  supersensuous  paths,  but  the 
majority  will  agree  with  us  in  considering  it  a  distinct  gain 
that  the  poet  under  Italian  influences  was  again  made  capa- 
ble of  running  the  gamut  of  the  whole  human  microcosm, 
from  the  most  exalted  heights  to  the  lowest  depths,  and  of 
showing  both  the  spiritual  and  the  sensuous  in  all  possible 


lltalp  411 

phases,  as  well  as  combined  in  beautiful  harmony.  Only 
by  thus  representing  mankind  in  its  totality  did  he  accom- 
plish his  high  calling  of  comprehending  man  in  every  fibre 
of  his  being  and  bringing  him  imder  the  ennobling  discipline 
of  poetry,  especially  of  his  own  poetry. 

Goethe  has  himself  depicted  in  a  very  suggestive  manner 
his  renunciation  of  the  delicate  pallor  of  his  Weimar  spirit- 
uality and  his  return  to  the  glowing,  richly  coloured  realism 
of  his  youth  under  the  influences  of  sunny  Italy.  In  the 
thirteenth  Romische  Elegie  Amor  approaches  him,  saying: 

9?un  bii  tnir  laffiget  bienft,  rto  finb  bic  fd)onen  ©eftaltcn, 

2So  bie  garben,  ber  ©lanj  beiner  grfinbiingen  ^in  ? 

®cnf[t  bii  nun  rcicber  gu  bilben,  0  f^rcnnb  ?     ®ie  Sc^ule  ber  (^riecbcn 

95Iieb  noc^  often,  ba^  Jor  fcftloffen  bic  3af)re  nid)t  ju. 

S5>ar  'i^M  5lntife  bod)  ncu,  ba  jene  ®Iiicflid)en  Icbtcn! 

Sebe  glucflid),  unb  [0  lebe  bic  ^^orgeit  in  bir!  "^ 

Returning  to  the  warm,  realistic,  richly  coloured  man- 
ner of  his  youth  Goethe  at  the  same  time  rose  to  a  greater 
height.  His  style  became  surer,  grander,  and  clearer;  in- 
deed he  now  for  the  first  time  became  a  master  of  what  an 
essay  of  his  Italian  period  calls  "style."  This  was  due 
partly  to  his  observ^ation  and  study  of  the  antique,  and 
partly  to  his  own  diligent  efforts  to  become  an  artist.  The 
first  general  uplifting  influence  he  felt  was  the  antique: 
"  The  revolution  which  I  foresaw,  and  which  is  now  taking 
place  within  me,  is  the  same  that  has  been  experienced  by 
every  artist  who  after  a  long,  faithful  endeavour  to  be  true 
to  nature  has  seen  the  relics  of  the  great  spirit  of  antiquity ; 
his  soul  has  welled  up  and  he  has  felt  himself  inwardly 
transfigured,  and  this  has  given  him  a  consciousness  of 
freer  life,  higher  existence,  ease,  and  grace."     The  study  of 

*  Since  thou  more  idly  hast  served  me,  whither  are  gone  the  fair  figures, 
Whither  the  colours,  the  light,  filling  thy  canvas  of  yore? 
Think'st  thou  again  to  create,  O  friend?     The  school  of  the  Grecians 
Still  remains  open,  its  doors  passing  of  years  cannot  close. 
New  was,  in  sooth,  the  antique  while  those  so  happy  were  living; 
Happy  live  thou,  and  so  in  thee  bygone  ages  shall  live. 


412  OTe  %\fc  of  (Boetbe 

works  of  art,  and  his  own  artistic  efforts,  bring  him,  further, 
to  the  conditions  upon  which  the  great  effects  of  the  highest 
creations  of  art  rest.  The  artists  of  antiquity,  and  the  few 
of  later  times  who  deserve  to  be  placed  in  the  same  class 
with  them,  stripped  their  subjects  of  everything  accidental 
and  capricious,  and  portrayed  their  essence,  so  far  as  it  is 
possible  for  us  to  represent  the  essence  of  things,  in  visible 
and  tangible  forms.  That  is  to  say,  they  sought  out  and 
l/^  portrayed  the  typical,  and  in  this  way  rose  from  naturalism 
and  mannerism  to  style.  From  now  on  this  is  Goethe's 
own  highest  aim.  The  mere  imitation  of  nature,  even  of 
^  "beautiful"  nature  (Batteux's  favourite  recipe),  he  casts 
aside,  and  holds  to  the  typical,  which  in  every  case  is 
beautiful  and  at  the  same  time  great,  because  it  is  true. 

9lac^Q^mung  bcr  dlatux — 

®er  fd)6nen — 
3c^  ging  and)  luo^I  auf  biefer  Spur ; 

@emo()ncn 
5}?ocftt'  id)  mot)I  nad)  unb  nod^  ben  @inn, 

W\ii  jii  dergnugen; 
5lQein  fo  balb  ic^  mfinbig  bin: 

e^  [inb'g  bie  ®ricd)en.* 

Observation  of  the  most  brilHant  revelations  of  art,  and 
practice  in  art,  finally  developed  to  full  mastery  his  innate 
power  of  plastic  word-painting.  As  the  plasticity  of  the 
figures  and  landscapes  of  his  early  writings  surpasses  all 
previous  achievements  in  German  literature,  he  now  moimts 
one  step  higher  in  this  art.  All  that  is  necessary  to  con- 
vince one  of  the  truthfulness  of  this  statement  is  to  com- 
pare the  figures  and  landscapes  in  Werther  with  those  in 
Hermann  und  Dorothea,  or  the  descriptions  in  the  Brief e  aus 

*  Go,  Nature  reproduce — 

Her  beauty — 
In  youth  't  was  verily  my  use ; 

And  duty 
Faithfully  done,  I  reached  a  stage 

That  satisfied  me; 
But  scarcely  am  I  come  of  age, 

The  Grecians  guide  me. 


der  Schweiz  with  those  in  the  Italienische  Reise,  beginning 
with  the  journey  to  Naples.  Whereas  the  outlines  of  the 
figures  were  formerly  more  or  less  hazy  and  indefinite,  they  / 
now  are  characterised  by  the  greatest  firmness  and  definite-  / 
ness;  and  whereas  formerly  the  chief  element  in  his  land- 
scapes was  the  feeling,  now  he  gives  us  the  landscape  itself, 
without  sacrificing  any  of  this  sentiment.  This  fact  is  not 
affected  by  the  exceptions  in  which  the  poet,  influenced  by 
a  particular  theory  or  struggling  with  a  refractory  idea,  or 
yielding  to  the  impatience  of  old  age,  contented  himself 
with  suggestive  silver-pencil  drawing.  Whenever  inner 
and  outer  conditions  favoured  his  compositions,  he  has, 
even  to  the  last  years  of  his  life,  shown  us  in  perfect  master- 
pieces what  he  learned  in  Italy. 

"The  chief  aim  of  my  journey  was  to  cure  myself  of  the 
evils,  both  physical  and  moral  in  nature,  which  annoyed  me 
in  Germany,  and  to  satisfy  my  burning  thirst  for  true  art," 
wrote  Goethe  to  the  Duke  on  the  25th  of  January,  1788. 
He  had  accomplished  both  purposes;  the  second  in  a 
broader  sense  than  he  realised.  He  not  only  saw  the  true  i 
art  for  which  he  thirsted, — he  mastered  it.  Against  the  ' 
return  of  the  physico-moral  evils  he  was  strongly  fortified, 
most  of  all  by  his  clear  understanding  of  himself.  With 
enviable  assurance  he  now  pursued  his  manner  of  life,  w^hich 
to  most  people  is  a  mystery.  He  became  the  reposeful 
Olympian,  whom  posterity  admires,  while  many  of  his 
contemporaries  missed  in  him  the  devoted,  communicative 
friend  of  former  years. 


NOTES 


415 


NOTES 


ABBREVIATIONS 

W. — The  Weimar  edition  of  Goethe's  Werke,  erste  Ahteilung, 
containing  his  poetical,  biographical,  and  esthetical 
writings. 
Th. — The  Weimar  edition  of  Goethe's  Werke,  dritte  Abteilung, 

containing  his  diaries. 
Br. — Vierie  Abteilung,  containing  his  letters. 
H. — The  Hempel  edition  of  Goethe's  Werke. 
DW. — Dichtung  und  Wahrheit. 
Ber.  d.  FDH. — Berichte  des  Freten  Deutschen  Hochstifts.     N.  F. — Neue 
Folge  (New  Series). 
GJ. — Goethejahrbuch. 
Vjschr. — Vierteljahrsschrift  fur  Liter aturgeschichte. 
G.  u.  Sch.  Arch. — Goethe-  und  Schillerarchiv  in  Weimar. 

1.  The  seeming  contradictoriness  in  his  personality  was  reflected  in 
turn  in  the  contradictions  in  his  writings.  This  was  pointed  out  with  a 
terseness  and  insight,  which  greatly  pleased  the  poet,  by  J.  J.  Ampere  in  a 
review  of  Goethe's  dramas  in  the  Paris  Globe  in  1826  (reprinted  in  J.  J 
Ampere,  Litterature  et  Voyages,  Allemagne  et  Scandinavie,  Paris,  1833, 
pp.  255-275).  Goethe  considered  the  review  important  enough  to  trans- 
late almost  the  whole  of  it  into  German  and  print  it  in  Kunst  und  Altertum, 
v.,  3  and  vi.,  i. 

2.  Goethe's  Germanic  nature  is  more  apparent  to  foreigners  than  to 
his  fellow-countrymen.  Madame  de  Stael  found  in  him  "les  traits 
principaux  du  g^nie  allemand"  (De  l' Allemagne,  i.,  240,  second  ed.). 
Emerson  in  his  Representative  Men  calls  him  "the  head  and  body  of  the 
German  nation." 

3.  Cf.  Sulp.  Boisser^e,  i.,  267.  Boisserde  makes  the  further  record, 
based  on  Goethe's  utterances  in  1815:  "Goethe's  wrath  over  perver- 
sities; how  he  used  to  give  vent  to  it  by  smashing  pictures  on  the  corner 
of  his  table,  by  shooting  books  to  shreds,  etc.,  and  then  he  could  not  help 
exclaiming :  '  It  shall  not  arise ! '  and  so  he  had  to  do  something  to 
cool  down  his  wrath."  A  well-known  example  was  his  nailing  up  of 
Jacobi's  Woldemar  in  the  park  at  Ettersburg.  The  following  utterances 
will  illustrate  the  violence  of  Goethe's  fits  of  passion.  Lavater  writes  to 
Zimmermann,  March  16,  1775:  "I  hear  Goethe  stamp  his  foot  and  ex- 
claim:   'They    are    dogs!'"  Aug.  27,  1774:    "Goethe  is  a  most    terrible 

417 


4i8  ZTbe  %\tc  ot  (Boetbe 

and  most  amiable  man"  (/m  neuen  Reich,    1878,  ii.,   605/.).     Goethe's 
mother, April  II,  1779:    "  Doctor  Wolf    .    .    .   in  accordance  with  his  laud- 
able habit,  would  gnash  his  teeth  and  curse  in  a  most  godless  fashion." 
What  a  volcanic  fire  of  wrath  was  smouldering  in  Goethe's  bosom,  even 
in  his  old  age,  may  be  seen  from  the  following  testimony  of  the  yotmger 
Voss:    "After  Schiller's  death  I  had  a  scene  with  Goethe  which  I  shall 
never  forget.     ...     He  had  learned  through  Riemer  that  my  father 
was  cooing  to  Heidelberg.      He  began  to  speak  with  such  violence  that  I 
was  speechless  from  fright.     '  The  loss  of  Schiller,*  he  said  among  other 
things,  and  this  with  a  voice  of  thimder,  'I  had  to  endure;    for  it  was 
brought  upon  me  by  fate;    but  the  responsibility  for  the  removal  to 
Heidelberg  cannot  be  laid  to  the  charge  of  fate;  it  is  the  work  of  man 
{Brieje  von  Heinrich  Voss,  hrsg.  von  Abr.  Voss,  ii.,  64).     "He  began  to 
storm  and  curse  about  Luther's  accursed  imagining  of  the  devil"  (Heinr. 
Voss    to   Solger,    Feb.    24,    1804,    Arch.   f.   Literaturg.,   xi.,    118).      The 
number  of  such  evidences  might  easily  be  increased.     That  such  occa- 
sional  outbursts   of   wrath   brought   relief   from   distress   that   was   still 
deeper  seated  is  shown  by  his  words  to  Knebel  in  Dec,  1774  {Cf.  p.  215). 

4.  "Finally  [on  the  way  from  Erfurt  to  Gotha]  I  again  worked  out 
my  favourite  scene  in  Wilhelm  Mcister.  In  my  fancy  I  went  over  aU  the 
details,  and  at  last  I  began  to  weep  so  bitterly  that  it  was  well  I  arrived 
in  Gotha  on  time"  {Br.,  June  5,  1780).  "This  morning  while  driving 
over  from  Cento,  half  asleep  and  half  awake,  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
invent  a  definite  plot  for  Iphigenie  auf  Delphos.  There  is  to  be  a  fifth 
act  and  a  recognition  scene,  such  as  very  few  can  be  fotmd  to  equal.  I 
myself  wept  over  it  like  a  child"  (Oct.  18,  1786.     Tb.,  i.,  304). 

5.  This  also  explains  the  remarkable  judgment  of  him  expressed  in 
1787  by  his  clever  servant  and  secretary,  Philipp  Seidel:  "His  joiu-ney 
to  Rome  will  in  all  probabiHty  mark  a  new  epoch  in  his  life.  It  seems 
to  me  as  if  he  were  one  of  those  people  whom  fate  did  not  wish  to  bring  up 
in  a  hothouse.  Perhaps  it  was  necessary  for  his  character  and  his  talents 
to  matiire  so  slowly  in  order  that  he  might  be  made  happy  "  {Ber.  d.  FDH., 
N.  F.,  vii.,  449).  It  was  with  this  in  mind  that  Herder  now  and  then  called 
him  a  "big  child."  The  following  characteristic  confession  is  only  one  of 
many:  "Thus  with  my  thousand  thoughts  I  am  again  reduced  to  a  child, 
unacquainted  with  the  present,  in  the  dark  as  to  myself"  {Br.,  Oct.  10, 
1780). 

6.  Goethe  himself  often  made  use  of  the  word  "Vaterland"  during 
the  first  half  of  his  life.  C/.  the  letters  of  July  16,  1776;  Dec,  1781  {Br.  v., 
246,  i);  April  10,  1782;  Oct.  28,  1784.  Cf.  "the  dust  of  the  fatherland" 
p.  370.  On  the  other  hand  he  uses  the  word  "Vaterstadt"  in  the  letters 
of  Aug.  18  and  Sept.  10,  1792  (x.,  16),  etc.  We  observe  that  the  change 
of  words  occurs  after  the  Italian  journey.  It  is  evident  that  while  he 
was  in  Italy  the  whole  of  Germany  became  his  "Vaterland,"  by  the  side 
of  which  Frankfort  could  no  longer  be  anything  more  than  his  "Vater- 
stadt." 

7.  W.  Strieker,  Goethe  und  Frankfurt  a.  M.,  p.  n  /.,  says:  "About 
30,000  Christian  inhabitants  in  3000  houses."  "The  number  of  Jews 
hardly  more  than  a  tenth  of  the  Christian  population."     Busching  {Neue 


1Rote0  419 

Erdbeschreibung,  6.  Aufl.),  gives,  for  the  year  1778,  36,000  Christians  and 
6600  Jews. 

8.  The  nobility,  the  doctors,  aristocratic  merchants,  and  capitalists 
occupied  the  first  two  benches  in  the  council  (28  seats),  nine  privileged 
guilds  the  third  bench  (14).  Cf.  A.  A.  v.  Lersner,  Der  weitberilhmten 
freien  Reichs-,  Wahl-  und  Handelsstadt  Chronika  i.,  257. 

9.  I  have  mentioned  only  Leipsic  as  a  university  at  which  Goethe's 
father  studied,  although  there  is  documentary  evidence  that  he  was  first 
matricvilated  as  a  student  at  the  University  of  Giessen  for  a  year.  But  it 
seems  that  this  year  was  lost  by  illness  or  some  other  cause.  Apparently 
he  never  mentioned  his  having  attended  the  University  of  Giessen,  other- 
wise his  son  would  not  have  mentioned  Leipsic  only  in  DW .  (xxvi.,  44). 
But  his  friends  also  completely  ignore  Giessen,  e.  g.,  J.  C.  Schneider,  in 
congratulating  him  on  obtaining  the  doctor's  degree  {Ber.  d.  FDH.,  N.  F., 
X.,  72).  Likewise  Senckenberg,  in  his  epistle  of  congratulation  attached 
to  the  dissertation  of  the  elder  Goethe,  speaks  only  casually  of  "  Lipsiae  et 
alibi,"  although  the  receiving  of  the  degree  in  Giessen  and  his  own  five 
years  of  study  at  that  university  (Kriegk,  Senckenberg,  p.  15)  would  have 
been  occasion  enough  for  him  to  make  special  mention  of  Giessen.  That 
Councillor  Goethe  studied  in  Leipsic  for  four  years  has  been  definitely 
established  by  the  publication  of  Schneider's  congratulations.  Whether 
on  his  journeys,  in  addition  to  Italy  and  France,  he  also  visited  Holland, 
as  is  usually  stated,  is  very  doubtful.  He  had  some  intention  of  doing  so, 
but  as  his  son  only  mentions  Italy  and  France  this  intention  does  not 
seem  to  have  been  carried  out.  On  his  return  from  France  his  thirst  for 
knowledge  prompted  him  to  stop  in  Strasburg  and  hear  some  lectures 
at  the  university.  He  matriculated  on  the  25th  of  Jan.,  1741,  as  Froitz- 
heim  has  shown  {Strassb.  Post,  June  23,  1895).  This  fact  helps  to  ex- 
plain why  he  chose  Strasburg  as  the  second  university  for  Wolfgang. 

10.  According  to  Heyden  {Mitteilungen  des  Vereins  f.  Gesch.  und 
Altertumsk.  in  Frankfurt  a.  M.,  i.,  186)  Goethe's  father  would  have  been 
excluded  from  the  council  by  the  fact  that  his  step-brother,  Herm.  Jacob 
Goethe,  had  been  a  member  of  that  body  since  the  8th  of  May,  1747-  For 
the  imperial  resolution  of  Nov.  22,  1725,  fixed  as  a  qualification  of  a 
candidate  for  election:  "that  neither  his  father,  son,  brother,  nephew, 
father-in-law,  son-in-law,  consocer,  wife's  brother,  nor  sister's  husband 
be  already  in  the  council."  But  there  is  a  question,  whether  the  author- 
ities did  not  put  a  liberal  interpretation  on  this  stipulation  and  under 
certain  circumstances  admit  a  step-brother.  For  many  arbitrary  inter- 
pretations of  the  law  were  customary  in  the  free  imperial  city.  To  be 
sure,  this  does  not  settle  the  question  as  to  whether  or  not  the  son  may 
have  imputed  a  false  motive  to  his  father.  We  may  assume,  however, 
that  Goethe  did  not  make  his  statements  arbitrarily,  but  based  them  on 
what  he  was  told  in  the  family  circle.  In  any  case  they  are  instructive 
in  that  they  throw  light  upon  the  opinion  which  the  family  held  of  Coun- 
cillor Goethe  and  his  marriage. 

1 1 .  There  had  always  been  a  good  many  things  in  favour  of  the 
credibility  of  Bettina's  stories  told  in  the  words  of  Goethe's  mother,  but 
the  establishment  of  the  fact  that  Goethe  intended  to  insert  them  in  DW . 


420  ^be  Xlfe  of  (Boetbe 

to  illustrate  his  mother's  characteristics  has  stamped  them  as  altogether 
trustworthy.     Cf.  W.  xxix.,  231. 

12.  Bower's  History  of  the  Popes,  the  work  of  an  English  Jesuit  who 
had  been  converted  to  the  evangelical  faith,  was  translated  into  German 
and  published  in  eleven  quarto  volumes,  of  which  four  had  appeared  in 
1756,  the  fifth  in  1762.  Even  if  the  father  made  them  study  through 
only  the  first  four  volumes,  nevertheless  that  was  making  no  sUght 
demand  upon  the  sprightly  wife  and  children. 

13.  What  was  the  colour  of  Goethe's  eyes?  In  the  above  quotation 
Bettina,  who  knew  him  very  well,  makes  his  mother  speak  of  his  black 
eyes;  Wieland  {Merkur,  1776,  i.,  15),  also  gives  him  black  eyes;  likewise 
Superintendent  of  Mines  Trebra  (GJ.,  ix.,  14),  Gleim  (Falk,  Goethe  aus 
ndherem  personlichen  Untgang.,  2.  Aufl.,  p.  139),  Landolt  {GJ.,  xiii,  131), 
and  many  others.  And  this  has  become  almost  the  universal  opinion. 
But  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  were  brown,  as  is  shown,  not  only  by  some 
good  observers,  but  above  all  by  the  oil  paintings.  However,  his  pupils 
were  of  such  extraordinary  size  (the  physicist  von  Munchow  characterised 
them  as  "almost  without  parallel" — cf.  Viehoflf,  Goethes  Leben,  4.  Aufl., 
i.,  23),  and  such  beaming  splendour  that  the  narrow  brown  iris  was  lost 
sight  of,  and  the  impression  was  left  upon  the  obser\'er  that  his  eyes  were 
black.  In  such  cases  we  are  accustomed  to  speak  of  black  eyes,  even 
though  a  black  iris  does  not  exist.  I  have  followed  this  well-foimded 
usage. 

14.  In  a  picture  accompanying  the  chapter  on  "God's  Providence" 
in  the  Orbis  Pictus  Goethe  could  see  a  man  who  is  addressed  by  an  angel 
on  the  left,  while  on  the  right  the  devil  seeks  to  throw  a  noose  around  his 
neck.  A  little  farther  to  the  side  stands  a  magician  in  the  centre  of  a 
circle.  As  the  artist  probably  had  Faust  in  mind,  young  Goethe  may  also 
have  thought  of  the  popular  magician. 

15.  Gottfried's  Chronicles  were  published  by  Hvmter  in  Frankfort  in  a 
fifth  edition,  revised  down  to  the  year  1750.  The  three  folio  volumes 
were  illustrated  with  a  large  number  of  etchings.  Goethe,  who  was  later 
a  collaborator  on  Lavater's  Physiognomische  Fragmente,  may  have  read  in 
the  introduction  to  Gottfried's  work:  "Everybody  desires  to  know  how 
the  figure  and  face  of  the  character  of  whom  he  reads  may  have  appeared, 
especially  as  those  experienced  in  physiognomy  affirm  that  nature  has 
made  manifest  the  inward  inclinations  of  the  heart  to  virtue  or  vice  by 
means  of  certain  lineaments  and  expressions  of  the  countenance." 

16.  We  now  possess  an  excellent  monograph  on  the  royal  lieutenant 
by  Dr.  Martin  Schubart  {Francois  de  Theas,  Cotntc  de  Thoranc,  Munich, 
1896),  which  gives  new  evidence  of  the  strength  of  Goethe's  memory  and 
of  the  clearness  of  the  impressions  which  he  formed,  even  when  a  boy. 
Schubart  has  not  only  most  carefully  investigated  the  personal  relations 
of  the  royal  lieutenant — especially  during  the  Seven  Years'  War — but  he 
has  discovered  in  southern  France  the  very  pictures  painted  for  him.  A 
small  number  of  them  are  still  in  Grasse,  the  most  of  them  in  the  Castle 
of  Mouan  near  Grasse,  in  the  possession  of  the  grand-nephew  of  the  royal 
lieutenant,  Count  Sartoux,  where  Herr  von  Loeper,  owing  to  a  peculiar 
dimness  of  vision,  had  sought  for  them  in  vain  in  1874.     Schubart  pur- 


IRotea  42  i 

chased  the  Joseph-cycle  from  Count  Sartoux  and  most  generously  pre- 
sented them  to  the  Freie  Deutsche  Hochstift  to  be  placed  in  the 
Goethehaus  in  Frankfort,  where  they  may  now  be  seen.  Beside  these 
some  other  paintings  belonging  to  Count  Sartoux  were  exhibited  in  1895, 
and  they  also  corresponded  exactly  to  Goethe's  account  of  the  works  of 
the  Frankfort  and  Darmstadt  artists.  For  further  details  see  the  care- 
fully prepared  catalogue  by  Dr.  O.  Heuer.  There  are  excellent  repro- 
ductions of  the  Joseph  pictures  (probably  the  head  of  young  Goethe  in 
one  of  them)  in  Schubart's  volume;  also  a  fine  copy  of  a  portrait  of  the 
royal  lieutenant  in  the  Castle  of  Mouan. 

17.  It  is  highly  probable  that  the  young  Frenchman's  name  was  de 
Rosne.  In  a  letter  from  Leipsic  {Br.,  i.,  26)  to  his  sister  Goethe  mentions 
a  Frankfort  actress  by  the  name  of  Madame  de  Rosne.  In  a  preliminary 
outHne  of  the  passage  in  question  in  DW.  we  read,  however;  "Madame 
Derones,  Tochter,  Sohn."  Even  before  the  Leipsic  letters  to  his  sister 
had  been  pubhshed  Diintzer  {Erlduterungen,  i.,  119)  had  made  the  con- 
jecture that  we  should  read  de  Rosne  (Derosne)  in  DW.  instead  of 
Derones. 

18.  That  the  youth  had  no  liking  for  Plato  either  was  doubtless 
partly  the  fault  of  the  insipid  and  confused  treatment  of  the  profound 
poetical  philosopher  in  the  "little  Brucker,"  which  Goethe's  tutor  made 
the  basis  of  his  instruction  in  philosophy.  "For  the  last  few  days  I  have 
been  reading  Plato,  for  the  first  time,  as  it  seems,  taking  up  his  Symposium, 
Phoedrus,  and  the  Apology,"  writes  Goethe  on  the  ist  of  Feb.,  1793. 

19.  Bayle's  Dictionnaire  Historique  et  Critique  is  an  encyclopedia 
devoted  almost  exclusively  to  biography,  and  gradually  grew  from  two 
large  folio  volumes  in  the  first  edition  (1697)  to  four  in  the  later  editions. 
Goethe  might  well  call  it  a  labyrinth.  It  contains  an  enormous  amount 
of  learning,  is  clever,  humorous,  piquant,  and  verbose.  Through  two 
generations  it  exerted  a  very  important  influence  on  the  educated  minds 
of  Europe. 

20.  Morhof's  Polyhistor  Literarius,  Philosophicus,  Practicus,  a  popu- 
lar handbook  which  first  appeared  in  1688,  contained  a  vast  amoimt  of 
bibUographical  material,  a  history  of  most  of  the  sciences,  a  methodology, 
rhetoric,  poetics,  and  a  systematic,  though  short,  treatment  of  physics, 
astronomy,  chemistry,  botany,  and  zoology. 

21.  Gesner's  Prim<B  Linece  Isagogcs  in  Erudittonem  Universalem 
(Gottingen,  1756),  gave  an  introduction  to  philology  (embracing  also  a 
treatment  of  the  arts),  history,  and  philosophy.  In  the  philosophical 
part  Spinoza  is  not  mentioned.  In  the  chapter,  "  De  Poesi  speciatim,"  the 
young  poet  was  taught,  "  Homceoteleutcon  studium  mater  sit  cogita- 
tionum  et  visorum,  improvisa  quadam  novitate,  et  non  semper  petita 
ex  proximo  placentium,  non  autem  ingeniorum  tortura  et  corruptrix 
verborum." 

22.  Among  Goethe's  earliest  poems  might  also  be  counted  the  con- 
gratulatory verses  dedicated  to  his  grandparents  at  New  Year's,  1757,  if 
we  were  as  convinced  of  their  independent  authorship,  as  we  are  in  the 
case  of  the  colloquies.  At  any  rate  they  may  interest  our  readers  as 
the  first  poems  which  bear  Goethe's  name,  and  as  they  have  hitherto  been 


422  ^bc  %ltc  of  6oetbe 

included  only  in  the  Weimar  edition  (vol.  xxxvii.),  we  will  print  them 
here.     The  originals  are  in  the  G.  u.  Sch.  Archiv; 


Erhabner  Grosspapa!     Ein  neues  Jahr  erscheint, 

Drum  muss  ich  meine  Pflicht  und  Schuldigkeit  entrichten, 

Die  Ehrfurcht  heisst  mich  hier  aus  reinem  Herzen  dichten, 

So  schlecht  es  aber  ist,  so  gut  ist  es  gemeint. 

Gott,  der  die  Zeit  emeut,  emeue  auch  Ihr  Gluck, 

Und  krone  Sie  dies  Jahr  mit  stetem  Wohlergehn ; 

Ihr  Wohlsein  musse  lang  so  fast  wie  Cedem  stehen, 

Ihr  Tun  begleite  stets  ein  gunstiges  Geschick; 

Ihr  Haus  sei,  wie  bisher,  des  Segens  Sammelplatz 

Und  lasse  Sie  noch  spat  Moninens  Ruder  fuhren, 

Gesundheit  musse  Sie  bis  an  Ihr  Ende  zieren, 

Denn  diese  ist  gewiss  der  allergrosste  Schatz. 

II 

Erhabne  Grossmama!     Des  Jahres  erster  Tag 

Erweckt  in  meiner  Brust  ein  zartliches  Empfinden 

Und  heisst  mich  ebenfalls  Sie  jetzo  anzubinden 

Mit  Versen,  die  vielleicht  kein  Kenner  lesen  mag; 

Indessen  horen  Sie  die  schlechten  Zeilen  an, 

Indem  sie,  wie  mein  Wunsch,  aus  wahrer  Liebe  fliessen. 

Der  Segen  musse  sich  heut  uber  Sie  ergiessen, 

Der  Hochste  schutze  Sie,  wie  er  bisher  getan, 

Er  wolle  Ihnen  stets,  was  Sie  sich  wiinschen,  geben, 

Und  lasse  Sie  noch  oft  ein  neues  Jahr  erleben. 

Dies  sind  die  Erstlinge,  die  Sie  anheut  empfangen. 

Die  Feder  wird  hinfort  mehr  Fertigkeit  erlangen. 

23.  The  Frankfort  city  library  purchased  the  book  of  exercises  from 
an  unknown  man  in  Jan.,  1846.  Soon  afterward  Weismann  published 
parts  of  it.  It  contains  a  collection  of  corrected  copies  from  Jan.,  1757, 
to  Jan.,  1759.  On  the  top  cover  is  written,  apparently  in  Goethe's  own 
hand,  Labores  Juveniles.  By  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  book  one  gets 
a  clear  idea  of  how  thoroughly  all  instruction  in  Lutheran  Frankfort  was 
permeated  with  the  Bible  and  religion.  Among  the  Bible  verses  chosen 
for  Goethe's  practice  in  penmanship  is  the  following,  not  included  in 
Weismann's  publication:  "When  I  was  a  child,  I  spake  as  a  child,  I  felt 
as  a  child,  I  thought  as  a  child:  now  that  I  am  become  a  man,  I  have  put 
away  childish  things.  For  now  we  see  in  a  mirror,  darkly;  but  then 
face  to  face:  now  I  know  in  part;  but  then  I  shall  know  even  as  also  I 
have  been  known."  One  versed  in  Goethe  will  be  reminded  of  many 
things,  c.  g.,  of  Goethe's  statement  to  Kestner  that  he  always  expresses 
himself  figuratively,  etc.  (c/.  above,  p.  158).  Veit  Valentin  in  the 
38th  volume  of  the  Weimar  edition  (p.  200  ff.)  has  established  more 
accurately  the  order  of  the  pieces,  which  were  bound  together  wrongly. 

24.  Max    Herrmann     {Jahrmarktsfest    zu     Plundcrsweilern,    p.    36) 


IRoteg  423 

considers  these  verses  the  property  of  some  one  else,  because  Goethe  put 
them  in  quotation  marks.  I  consider  them  a  quotation  from  himself, 
to  which  the  versified  postscript,  "Es  hat  der  Autor,  wenn  er  schreibt,  So 
etwas  Gewisses,  das  ihn  treibt,"  etc.,  forms  a  fine,  roguish,  marginal  note, 
whereas,  considered  as  an  addition  to  a  quotation  from  some  one  else,  it 
surely  is,  as  Herrmann  says,  "somewhat  meaningless." 

25.  Leipsic  was  smaller  than  Frankfort, — not  larger  by  3000  in- 
habitants, as  Loeper's  note  to  H.,  xxi.,  30  says.  He  doubtless  based  his 
statement  on  the  Gothaische  Hofkalender,  which — perhaps  only  by  an 
oversight  in  proof-reading — gives  the  population  up  to  the  end  of  the 
seventies  as  36,000,  but  for  1782  the  corrected  number  of  26,000  (1785, 
29,000,  etc.).  Leonhardi,  Beschreibung  der  Stadt  Leipzig  (Leipzig,  1799), 
a  reliable  authority,  estimates  the  population  for  1763  at  28,352;  accord- 
ing to  the  figures  which  Reichard,  editor  of  the  Gothaische  Kalender, 
received,  this  is  apparently  still  too  high.  Director  of  the  Archives 
Wustmann  kindly  informs  me  that  there  are  no  real  census  reports  of 
that  time.  The  figures  are  all  arrived  at  indirectly,  by  means  of  calcula- 
tions based  on  the  number  of  births,  deaths,  and  other  well-known 
factors. 

26.  These  words  are  taken  from  a  review  in  the  Frankfurter  Gel. 
Anz.,  Feb.  21,  1772.  Merck  claimed  the  review  as  his  own  {Merckbriefe, 
iii.,  54),  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  these  words  were  inserted  by 
Goethe,  who  even  included  the  whole  review  among  his  works. 

27.  The  only  exception  was  Domenico  Feti,  of  whom  Goethe  was 
very  fond  because  of  his  realistic  portrayal  of  biblical  scenes.  His  ad- 
miration for  this  relatively  unimportant  artist  brought  upon  him  the 
ridicule  of  Herder  in  Strasburg. 

28.  "What  is  beauty?  It  is  not  light,  nor  is  it  darkness.  Twilight." 
Br.,  i.,  190.  "Beauty  appears  to  us  as  a  dream.  It  is  a  brilliant,  swim- 
ming shadow-picture,  whose  outlines  no  definition  can  catch."  Br.,  i.,  238. 
"The  ancients,"  said  Goethe  about  a  year  after  his  Leipsic  sojourn,  in  his 
Tagesheften  {Ephemerides,  p.  10),  "shunned  not  so  much  the  ugly  as  the 
false."  "This  to  me  is  another  proof  that  the  excellence  of  the  ancients 
is  to  be  sought  elsewhere  than  in  their  portrayal  of  beauty."  For  further 
material  on  his  critical  standards,  as  opposed  to  Laokoon,  see  Br.,  i.,  199, 
205. 

29.  It  is  probably  a  mere  accident  that  Goethe  did  not  mention  Die 
Hamburgische  Dramaturgie  among  the  works  that  influenced  him  in  his 
Leipsic  period.  For  in  two  different  preliminary  outlines  for  that  part  of 
DW.  (W.  xxvi.,  356,  xxvii.,  387)  it  is  mentioned.  Another  circumstance 
would  seem  to  point  to  his  having  studied  it  in  Leipsic.  He  read  a  transla- 
tion of  Aristotle's  Poetics,  without  gaining  any  understanding  of  the  mean- 
ing of  the  work,  however  {Br.,  xii.,  117).  The  reading  can  hardly  have 
been  prompted  by  anything  else  than  by  Die  Hamburgische  Dramaturgie. 

30.  That  Die  Laune  des  Verliebten  had  originated  in  Frankfort  and 
was  called  Amine  in  the  first  version  has  been  questioned  by  F.  Roetteken 
{Vjschr.  iii.,  184  ff.),  but  without  sufficient  grounds,  as  it  seems  to  me. 
When  in  the  letter  of  May  15,  1767,  Goethe  speaks  of  Amine  and  of  Die 
Laune  des  Verliebten,  without  pointing  out  any  connection  between  them. 


424  Zhe  %itc  of  (Boetbe 

this  is  characteristic  of  the  secrecy  affected  by  all  yoting  authors,  especi- 
ally by  young  Goethe.  But,  both  in  this  letter  and  in  the  one  of  Oct.  1 2th, 
he  offers  the  Laune  to  replace  Amine.  This  would  certainly  lead  one  to 
conclude  rather  that  it  was  an  improved  version  of  it  than  that  it  was 
something  entirely  different.  Further  evidence  is  the  similarity  of  the 
names  of  the  heroines,  and  the  fact  that  Goethe  states  very  definitely  that 
Die  Laune  des  Verliebten  in  its  first  version  originated  in  the  spring  of  1765 
{H.,  xxviii.,  723).  This  makes  it  rather  certain  that  the  play  originated  in 
Frankfort,  but  I  think  it  also  establishes  the  identity  with  Amine.  The 
first  performance  of  the  play  took  place  on  the  ducal  amateur  stage  in 
Ettersburg,  May  20,  1779.  As  in  all  his  own  dramas  which  he  helped  to 
stage,  Goethe  played  the  part  in  which  he  had  copied  himself  (Eridon). 
The  first  public  performance  was  in  Weimar,  in  March,  1805;  the  first 
printed  edition  in  1806.  Only  one  manuscript,  the  one  prepared  for  the 
performance  of  1805,  is  still  in  existence.  It  is  in  the  G.  u.  Sch.  Arch.  It 
differs  from  the  first  printed  text  only  in  unessential  matters. 

3 1 .  With  no  poet  is  it  necessary  to  make  a  sharper  distinction  be- 
tween origin,  first,  and  last  written  versions  than  in  the  case  of  Goethe. 
He  was  able  to  carry  a  thing  about  in  his  mind  for  years  without  writing 
it  down,  and,  again,  there  was  a  long  stretch  between  the  first  and  last 
written  versions  of  his  works.  To  be  sure,  the  two  oldest  manuscripts  of 
Die  Mitschuldigen  go  back  to  the  year  1769,  and  some  of  the  allusions 
would  not  have  been  possible  before  that  year.  But  to  conclude  from  this, 
as  Weissenfels  (Goethe  im  Strum,  und  Drang,  pp.  107  and  448)  does,  that 
the  play  did  not  originate  till  then,  that  is  to  say,  that  it  did  originate  in 
Frankfort,  is  absolutely  unjustifiable,  in  view  of  the  repeated  and  definite 
testimony  of  Goethe's  own  words  (ly.,  xxvii.,  113,  216;  xxvi.,  356;  xxvii., 
387,  395;  XXXV.,  4;  Letter  to  Rochlitz,  July  27,  1807:  "Die  Mitschuldigen, 
which  I  wrote  in  Leipsic  almost  forty  years  ago"),  which  have  recently 
found  a  noteworthy  corroboration  in  Annette.  The  manuscripts  of  the  year 
1769  are  nothing  but  later  redactions.  The  older  manuscript,  in  which  the 
first  act  is  lacking,  probably  owes  its  shorter  version  to  the  merely  acciden- 
tal circumstance  that  somebody  asked  Goethe  for  a  copy  of  the  play  while 
he  was  busy  recasting  the  exposition,  and  the  poet,  being  dissatisfied  with 
the  old  version  and  not  having  finished  with  the  new  one  and  being  at  the 
same  time  undesirous  of  putting  into  strange  hands  something  that  he 
himself  had  rejected,  simply  cut  out  the  first  act.  That  the  piece  which 
he  brought  with  him  from  Leipsic  already  had  an  exposition  the  poet 
tells  us  expressly  when  he  says  that  he  rewrote  the  exposition  in  Frank- 
fort. Furthermore  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  young  Goethe  should  have 
hit  upon  the  idea  of  rushing  right  into  the  middle  of  things  and  making 
the  situation  so  difficult  for  reader  and  hearer  to  understand,  as  would  be 
the  case  if  the  first  act  were  left  out.  Of  the  manuscripts  of  the  year 
1769,  the  shortened  one  is  owned  by  a  private  individual  in  Dresden,  the 
complete  one,  at  one  time  in  the  possession  of  Friederike  Brion,  is  in  the 
library  of  the  University  of  Leipsic.  Beside  these  there  are  two  other 
manuscripts,  originally  agreeing  in  all  particulars,  probably  written  in  the 
year  1783,  in  the  G.  u.  Sch.  Arch.  One  of  them  Goethe  revised  for  the 
printed  text  of  1787,  and  erased  from  it  more  than  from  the  other  those 


UriOtCB  425 

parts  which  were  characteristic  only  of  his  youthful  mind.  The  play 
was  first  performed  in  Weimar  on  the  amateur  stage  in  1776  (Goethe 
played  Alcest),  but  not  until  1805  o^  ^^^  public  stage. 

32.  Annette  is  that  collection  of  poems  which  Behrisch  copied  with 
great  skill  in  order  to  keep  his  young  friend  from  publishing  them.  The 
manuscript,  the  existence  of  which  could  no  longer  be  counted  on,  was 
found  among  the  papers  of  Fraulein  von  Gochhausen  and  in  1894  passed 
into  the  possession  of  the  G.  u.  Sch.  Arch.  It  confirms  the  description 
which  Goethe  gives  of  it  in  DW.  The  collection  which  is  now  printed  in 
the  37th  volume  of  the  Weimar  Goethe  is  entitled  Annette  in  honour  of 
Katchen  SchOnkopf  (C/.  above,  pp.  53  and  56).  Beside  a  poem  of 
dedication  and  an  epilogue  it  contains  eleven  longer  and  six  shorter 
poems,  the  latter  of  an  epigrammatic  character.  Of  the  whole  collection 
only  the  epigram.  Das  Schreyen,  borrowed  from  the  Italian,  was  included 
by  Goethe  in  the  Liederhuch  of  1769,  and  even  this  was  later  rejected,  and 
only  the  Ode  an  Herrn  Professor  Zacharid,  which  had  already  been  pub- 
lished in  the  Leipziger  Musenalmanach  of  1777,  was  given  a  place  among 
his  lyric  poems,  while  of  the  twenty  Neue  Lieder  he  in  the  course  of  time 
considered  eleven  worthy  of  the  honour  of  appearing  among  his  works. 

33.  Of  the  Neiie  Lieder  some  were  not  composed  until  after  his  return 
home.  They  are :  Neujahrslied,  Zueignung,  Die  Reliquie  ( 1 8 1 5 ,  Lebendiges 
Andenken),  An  den  Mond  (1815,  called  An  Luna  to  distinguish  it  from 
Fullest  wieder  Busch  und  Tal,  and  doubtless  also  in  order  to  characterise 
it  as  belonging  to  a  style  which  he  had  outgrown),  and  probably  also  Das 
Glilck  der  Liebe  (181 5,  Gluck  der  Entfernung) .  One  notices  in  them  a 
certain  amount  of  liberation  from  the  influence  of  his  Leipsic  friends. 
For  their  influence  was  not  only  indirect,  in  that  Goethe  thought  of  them 
as  his  pubUc;  it  was  also  direct.  "  Le  grand  conseil  s'assembla,  ou  furent 
lues  toutes  les  poesies  qui  sortirent  de  ma  plume  depuis  que  je  rode  autour 
de  la  douce  Pleisse.  Conclu  fut  que  le  tout  serait  condamn6  k  I'obscurit^ 
etemelle  de  mon  coffre  hormis  douze  pieces"  (to  his  sister,  August,  1767). 
What  they  selected  formed  the  little  booklet  Annette.  It  is  character- 
istic of  his  friends'  taste,  to  which  they  were  subjected,  that  neither 
this  collection  nor  the  Neue  Lieder  of  1769  contained  that  particular  poem 
which  the  author  sketched  in  the  7th  book  of  DW.,  xxvii.,  103,  and  which, 
if  it  were  preserved,  we  should  probably  consider  the  crown  of  his  Leipsic 
lyrics.  Goethe  says  of  the  poem  that  he  was  never  able  to  read  it  without 
admiring  it,  nor  recite  it  to  others  without  being  moved.  This  is  easy  to 
comprehend,  for  even  the  prose  sketch  is  possessed  of  a  high  poetic  charm. 

34.  Adolf  Scholl  {Briefe  und  Aufsdtze  von  Goethe,  1766-1786,  p.  20  ff.) 
published  in  1846  two  letters  which  he  found  in  one  of  yovmg  Goethe's 
note-books  and  attributed  them  to  his  Leipsic  period.  One  of  them 
{Arianne  an  Wetty)  he  considered  a  fragment  of  an  epistolary  novel. 
But  Erich  Schmidt  (Scherer,  Aus  Goethes  Fruhzeit,  p.  i  ff.)  and  Minor 
(Minor  und  Sauer,  Studien  zur  Goethephil.,  p.  82)  have  brought  forward 
good  reasons  for  believing  that  the  letter  "An  eine  Freundin"  cannot 
have  been  written  before  1769  and  the  other  {Arianne  an  Wetty)  not 
before  Goethe's  meeting  with  Herder.  Both  are  probably  either  imag- 
inary, or  old  letters  recast,  and  if  they  did  not  originate  in  Leipsic,  they 


426  Zbe  %ite  of  (Boetbe 

are,  as  I  think,  continuations  of  an  epistolary  novel  begtui  in  Leipsic. 
Goethe  says  that  he  based  his  compositions  written  for  Gellert's  Prak- 
tikum  on  "  leidenschaftUche  Gegenstande,"  which  must  mean  love 
affairs.  Now  the  two  letters  unquestionably  deal  with  his  and  Horn's 
Leipsic  liaisons,  and  must,  accordingly,  have  some  connection  with  the 
compositions  handed  in  to  Gellert.  After  the  first  labours  of  an  attempt 
to  write  the  continuation  in  Strasburg  his  interest  in  the  completion  of  the 
novel  must  of  necessity  have  flagged,  partly  because  of  his  change  of  taste, 
and  partly  because  of  the  springing  up  of  his  new  love  passion  for  Frieder- 
ike.  Nevertheless  he  preserved  a  certain  fondness  for  the  fragment  and 
gave  it  to  Lavater  to  read  in  July,  1774  {GJ.,  xx.,  268).  Lavater  calls  the 
composition  an  "  Aufsatz" ;  Arianne  an  Wetty.  The  designation  "  Aufsatz" 
supports  the  view  that  the  epistolary  novel  had  been  begun  as  a  com- 
position for  Gellert's  Praktikum.  Lavater  in  calling  it  an  "Aufsatz" 
has  certainly  preserved  the  title  as  it  appeared  in  Goethe's  copy-book. 

35.  Reich,  W.,  xxvii.,  299;  teuer,  xxvii.,  328;  schon,  xxvii.,  229  (9 
and  26),  230;  heiter.  fruchtbar,  frohlich,  xxvii.,  340;  herrlich,  fruchtbar, 
xxvii.,  330;  herrlich,  xxvii.,  324;  xxviii.,  30,  79,  84;  paradiesisch,  xxvii., 
327;  xxviii.,  45;    neues  Paradies,  xxvii.,  230. 

36.  Gesellschaft  der  schonen  Wissenschaften.  Kochendorffer,  in  an 
article  {Pr.  Jahrb.,  Ixvi.,  554^.,  and  Ixvii.,  316^.),  with  the  spirit  of 
which  I  am  very  much  in  sympathy,  has  questioned  Salzmann's  and 
Goethe's  membership  in  the  society,  indeed  the  very  existence  of  the 
society,  maintaining  that  it  was  identical  with  the  Soci^t6  de  Philosophie 
at  de  Belles- Let tres,  founded  in  1767.  This  assertion  is  very  difficult  to 
support.  The  Socidte  changed  its  name  to  Academic  in  1768,  at  the  same 
time  assuming  a  character  to  correspond  to  the  change  of  name,  by 
dividing  itself  into  four  classes.  Its  transactions  were  conducted  in 
French  (Fritz,  Lehen  Blessigs,  p.  8  /.).  Consequently  the  Gesellschaft 
der  schonen  Wissenschaften  can  neither  in  name  nor  in  character  be  con- 
sidered identical  with  that  Academic.  Such  people  as  Lenz  and  Jung- 
Stilling,  who  at  that  time  were  aglow  with  German  patriotism,  could  not 
have  joined  such  a  society,  much  less  delivered  addresses  at  its  meetings. 
Accordingly  the  German  society  founded  by  Lenz  in  1775  was  not,  as 
Kochend5rffer  says,  a  continuation  of  the  French  organisation,  but  the 
latter  continued  to  exist,  as  is  shown  by  a  letter  from  Lenz  to  Haffner 
(Froitzheim,  Zu  Strassburgs  Sturm-  uiid  Drangpertode ,  p.  54).  The  his- 
torical sources,  on  the  other  hand,  establish  the  separate  existence  of  a 
Gesellschaft  der  schonen  Wissenschaften,  of  which  Actuary  Salzmann, 
Goethe,  Lenz,  and  Jung-Stilling  were  members.  What  KochendOrffer  has 
to  say  specifically  against  Goethe's  membership  is  lacking  in  convincing 
power.  That  Goethe  on  Jung's  return  knew  nothing  of  the  latter's 
marriage,  nor  of  the  congratulations  of  the  society  is  easily  explained,  for 
during  the  time  between  Jung's  departure  and  his  return  Goethe  had  been 
in  Sesenheim.  The  sentence  referring  to  the  Shakespeare  day  in  Goethe's 
letter  of  Sept.  21,  17  71,  to  Roederer,  seems  to  me  to  speak  in  favour  of 
Goethe's  membership,  rather  than  against  it.  KochendOrffer's  objec- 
tions to  Froitzheim's  view  are,  in  my  opinion,  easily  met.  The  theatre 
had  often  been  the  subject  of  discussion  in  the  society,  and  Goethe,  carry- 


IFlotes  427 

ing  out  suggestions  received  from  Herder  was  doubtless  often  the  chief 
contributor.  Out  of  these  discussions  and  some  additions  of  his  own 
Lenz  then  distilled  his  article,  which  was  probably  never  read,  not  even 
after  Goethe's  departure.  Hence  Goethe  must  have  been  not  a  little 
astonished  that  Lenz,  although  his  material  was  essentially  nothing 
but  a  reproduction  of  Goethe's  and  Herder's  ideas,  was  nevertheless  vain 
and  dishonest  enough  to  leave  the  impression  with  the  public,  by  means 
of  a  prefatory  remark,  that  he  was  not  indebted  to  Goethe  and  Herder, 
but  that,  on  the  contrary,  they  were  indebted  to  him  for  their  ideas  on 
the  theatre.  Thus  interpreted,  the  passages  in  DW.  which  Froitzheim 
wishes  to  use  as  evidence  against  Goethe  are  easily  tmderstood.  There  is 
absolutely  no  contradiction  in  them,  for  Goethe  in  the  first  passage  says 
nothing  whatever  of  a  reading  of  Lenz's  essay. 

37.  I  see  no  reason  for  considering  the  story  of  the  dancing  master's 
daughters  a  pure  invention  of  the  poet  for  artistic  purposes.  Such  a 
thing  would  have  been  wholly  foreign  to  his  purpose  in  writing  his  auto- 
biography. There  is  in  general  too  much  artistic  purpose  discovered  (?) 
in  DW.  I  have  pointed  out,  for  example,  in  the  introduction  to  the 
chapter  on  Friederike  the  various  stages  of  the  preparation  for  the  Idyll. 
But  I  do  not  believe  that  it  is  arranged  with  calculating  art.  I  consider 
it  rather  the  product  of  the  solemn  feeling  of  love,  which  came  over  the 
poet  when  his  memory  touched  upon  the  Friederike  episode,  and  of  his 
hesitation  to  begin  immediately  the  description  of  the  painful,  yet  beauti- 
ful relation.  Krauter's  report  of  the  dictation  of  that  section  should  be 
remembered  in  this  connection. 

38.  The  letter  to  Friederike  is  preserved  only  in  the  rough  draught. 
In  this  the  beginning,  from  "Dear  new  friend"  to  "who  hold  you  so  dear," 
is  enclosed  in  parentheses,  so  that  we  may  assume  that  the  copy  which  he 
sent  to  Friederike  began  with  "Dear,  dear  friend."  Nevertheless  I  did 
not  wish  to  suppress  the  first  beginning,  as  it  gives  us  a  good  idea  of 
Goethe's  manner  and  of  the  situation. 

39.  Goethe  dedicated  a  great  many  songs  to  Friederike.  He  says  in 
DW.  (xxviii.,  31):  "they  would  have  made  a  neat  little  volume."  Only 
a  few  of  them  are  found  among  his  works.  But  some  of  them  were  pre- 
served among  Friederike's  papers  which  Heinrich  Kruse  found  at  Sophie 
Brion's  in  1835,  among  them  the  song  quoted  on  pp.  127-128.  Sophie  as- 
serted that  all  the  eleven  songs  in  her  possession  were  by  Goethe.  But 
the  opinion  has  gradually  become  general  that  one  or  more  of  them  were 
written  by  Lenz,  who  after  Goethe's  departure  sought  to  win  Friederike's 
favour.  In  vol.  xii.  of  the  GJ.  (1891),  I  have  ascribed  five  songs  to  Lenz. 
A  great  many  objections  have  been  raised  to  this  view,  the  effort  being 
made  to  retain  at  least  two  of  them  as  Goethe's.  [Cf.  the  excellent 
article,  "The  Authenticity  of  Goethe's  Sesenheim  Songs,"  by  J.  Goebel, 
in  Modern  Philology,  i.,  159  ff. — C.] 

40.  In  my  characterisation  of  Merck  I  have  in  the  main  followed 
Goethe's  description  of  him.  This  has  often  been  condemned  by  Merck's 
followers  as  partisan  and  imjust.  But  the  deeper  one  delves  into  the 
existing  sources  the  more  one  recognises  how  apt  the  picture  is  which 
Goethe  has  drawn  of  him.     For  certainly  nothing  could  have  been  farther 


428  Zbc  %\tc  of  6oetbe 

from  his  intention  than  to  do  an  injustice  to  his  former  friend  who  cltmg 
to  him  so  loyally.  In  corroboration  of  Goethe's  characterisation  I  may 
here  refer  to  a  remark  by  Vamhagen  which  has  received  but  little  atten- 
tion. He  says  in  his  Denkwurdigkeiten,  2nded.,iv.,  477  /. :  "From  what  we 
know  from  other  sources  we  have  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  description 
which  Goethe  has  given  of  him  is  in  all  its  features  and  colours  thoroughly 
correct.  .  .  .  Fiirthermore  his  personal  appearance  has  been  de- 
scribed to  us  by  persons  who  knew  him  exactly  as  they  are  in  that 
characterisation . ' ' 

41.  The  only  trace  which  Dr.  Goecke,  keeper  of  the  state  archives, 
has  been  able  to  find  of  Goethe's  activity  at  the  Imperial  Chamber  in 
Wetzlar  is  the  entry  of  his  name  in  his  own  handwriting  in  the  original 
record  of  the  practitioners  {Verhandl.  der  Giessener  Philologenvers.,  1885, 
p.  284). 

42.  In  1802  Goethe's  mother  gave  a  somewhat  different  account  of  the 
origin  of  the  play.  The  differences,  which  are  of  no  great  importance, 
may  be  explained  in  a  variety  of  ways.  The  important  thing  is  that  we 
hear  also  from  his  mother's  lips  that  he  did  not  have  the  least  thought  of 
the  theatre,  but  wished  only  to  dramatise  the  biography  of  Gotz. — From 
the  words  of  his  letter  to  Salzmann  of  Nov.  28,  177 1,  in  which  the  poet 
speaks  of  his  work  on  Gotz  as  "a  wholly  unexpected  passion,"  the  con- 
clusion has  been  drawn  that  Goethe — contrary  to  his  assertion  in  DW. — 
had  not  yet  occupied  his  mind  with  Gotz  while  in  Strasburg.  This  is  not 
a  necessary  conclusion.  In  Strasburg  he  had  a  certain  predilection  for 
the  dramatisation  of  the  material,  but  the  undertaking  did  not  become 
a  passion,  and  that  an  unexpected  one,  with  him  till  the  idea  of  the 
Weislingen-drama  flashed  through  his  mind,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
the  possibility  of  making  the  drama  a  means  of  liberating  himself  from 
his  heart-pangs  on  account  of  Friederike.  Finally,  the  external  reasons 
which  John  S.  NoUen  (Goethes  Gotz  auf  der  Buhne,  Leipsic,  1893)  has 
brought  forward  in  favour  of  the  Frankfort  origin  of  the  drama  do  not  seem 
to  me  a  strong  enough  basis  on  which  to  accuse  Goethe  of  an  error. 

43.  It  is  hard  to  rid  one's  self  of  the  thought  that  Adelheid  is  drawn 
from  a  living  model.  I  believe  we  may  think  of  the  uncommonly  beauti- 
ful Henriette  von  Waldner,  later  Frau  von  Oberkirch,  as  the  model,  who 
in  1770-177 1  was  between  sixteen  and  seventeen  years  old,  and  may 
in  some  way  have  met  the  poet  in  Strasburg.  Adelheid's  name,  von 
Walldorf,  also  reminds  one  of  her. 

44.  That  the  poet  had  Martin  Luther  in  mind  in  this  character 
has  always  been  supposed.  It  has  now  become  a  certainty  since  the 
publication  of  an  album  leaf  on  which  Merck  wrote  (Apr.  26,  1773)  the 
words  of  the  brother:  "What  is  not  burdensome  in  this  world?  and  I  con- 
sider nothing  more  burdensome  than  not  to  be  permitted  to  be  a  man," 
with  the  added  remark:  "Martin  Luther  in  the  drama,  Gotz  von  Ber- 
lichingen."     (Cf.,  Ber.  d.  FDH.,  N.  F.,  xi.,  428). 

45.  That  the  poetic  epistle  to  Merck,  from  which  the  concluding 
verses  are  here  quoted,  refers  to  Gotz  must  not  be  doubted  because  of  the 
introductory  lines,  which  are  so  hard  to  interpret.  The  second  part  of  the 
poem  leaves  no  further  doubt  whatever.     When  Goethe  in  the  beginning 


IRotes  429 

speaks  of  the  "new  child  in  the  old  dress,"  the  second  redaction  may 
already  have  seemed  to  him  a  return  to  the  old  dress,  and  nevertheless 
he  may  have  remained  conscious  of  the  revolutionary  character  of  the 
drama.  If  it  is  correct  to  refer  these  words  to  the  second  version, 
the  verses  belong  to  the  spring  of  1773.  The  date  which  they  bear  in  the 
Weimar  edition,  Dec,  177 1,  is  wrong  in  any  case,  as  Goethe  did  not 
become  acquainted  with  Merck  until  the  end  of  Dec,  177 1  {Aus  Herders 
Nachlass,  iii.,  169). 

46.  The  performance  in  Berlin,  Apr.  12,  1774,  was  the  first  in  Ger- 
many (for  further  details  see  R.  M.  Werner  in  GJ .,  ii.,  87  ff.).  Then  fol- 
lowed Hamburg,  Oct.  24,  1774;  Breslau,  Feb.  17,  1775;  Leipsic,  perhaps 
in  the  same  year;  Frankfort  a.  M.,  1778;  Vienna  (Kartnertortheater), 
1783;  Mannheim,  1786.  It  was  not  put  on  the  stage  in  Weimar  till 
Sept.  22,  1804.  Goethe  recast  the  play  for  this  performance.  But  as  it 
required  almost  six  hours  in  the  new  form  he  undertook  to  prepare  a  new, 
shorter  version,  which  was  performed  Dec.  8,  1804,  and  was  later  incor- 
porated among  his  works,  remaining  ever  since  the  standard  for  most 
German  theatres.  The  poet,  however,  did  not  like  the  shortened  version 
very  well,  because  it  sacrificed  too  much  of  the  original  form.  Accord- 
ingly he  made  a  remarkable  attempt  to  divide  the  longer  version  for  the 
theatre  into  two  parts,  the  first  of  which  he  called  Adelbert  von  Weis- 
lingen,  the  second  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  thus  putting  an  external  seal 
upon  the  internal  disunity  of  the  piece.  Thus  divided,  the  play  was  first 
performed  on  the  23rd  and  26th  of  Dec,  1809.  Later  (1819)  he  prepared 
a  new  version  of  the  divided  play  for  the  stage.  (On  the  Hamburg  per- 
formance cf.  Winter  und  Kilian,  Zur  Buhnengeschichte  des  Gotz;  on  the 
Vienna  production  cf.  GJ.  xix.,  293  and  xx.,  264.  For  a  comprehensive 
statement,  with  much  that  is  new,  see  John  S.  NoUen,  Goethes  Gotz  auf 
der  Buhne.  On  the  first  redaction  for  the  theatre  see  Brahm  in  GJ .,  ii., 
190;  on  the  redaction  of  1819  see  W.,  xiii.,  II.,  248  ff.).  Manuscripts  and 
FIRST  EDITIONS.  Of  the  first  edition  (1771),  there  is  a  manuscript  in 
Goethe's  own  hand  in  the  G.  u.  Sch.  Arch.  It  was  first  printed  in  1832 
in  volume  xlii.  of  Goethe's  works.  The  second  version  (1773)  has  been 
preserved  only  in  printed  copies.  The  Goethe-Merck  edition  was  pirated 
twice  that  same  year.  The  first  redaction  for  the  theatre  (Sept.,  1804) 
was  first  printed  in  1879  on  the  basis  of  a  manuscript,  with  corrections 
by  the  poet,  now  in  the  library  of  the  University  of  Heidelberg.  The 
second  (Dec,  1804)  appeared  in  1832,  in  volume  xlii.  of  Goethe's  works. 
The  variants  of  the  version  of  18 19  are  given  in  the  above-mentioned 
volume  of  the  Weimar  edition. 

47.  If  a  report  by  Sara  von  Grotthus,  nee  Meyer,  may  be  trusted, 
Lessing  later  gave  up  his  moralising  standpoint  and  gave  himself  over 
without  reserve  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  work.  She  tells  that  he  was 
indignant  at  Mendelssohn  for  taking  away  Werther  from  her,  and  that  he 
brought  her  another  copy,  remarking:  "Some  day  you  will  feel  what  a 
genius  Goethe  is,  I  know.  I  have  always  said  that  I  would  have  given 
ten  years  of  my  life,  if  I  could  have  added  one  year  to  Sterne's  life,  but 
Goethe  is  in  some  measure  a  compensation  for  his  loss :  I  cannot  listen  to 
the    twaddle  about  his    degrading  influence,    sentimental    revelry,  etc. 


430  ^be  Xife  of  6oetbe 

Miserable  fiddle-faddle!  Paint  nothing  but  Grandisons  for  your  prudish 
puppets,  lest  they  should  crack  to  pieces  in  the  heat  of  passion;  but 
shall  one  not  write  at  all  for  men,  simply  because  fools  are  foolish?" 
{GJ.,  xiv.,  22). 

48.  A  very  fine  description  of  the  effects  of  Werther  was  given  by 
Aug.  Wilh.  Schlegel  in  a  letter  printed  in  the  Chefs-d'oeuvre  des  Thedtres 
Etrangers,  German  section,  iii.,  373  to  378  (Paris,  1822  ff.).  Erich  Schmidt 
has  rescued  it  from  this  hiding-place  and  reprinted  it  in  the  Festschr.  z. 
Neuphilologentage,  1892. 

49.  Of  the  first  version  of  Werther  the  only  manuscript  that  has  been 
preserved  is  two  sheets  of  Goethe's  rough  draught;  they  were  at  one  time 
in  the  possession  of  Frau  von  Stein  (for  details  see  A.  SchoU,  Briefe  und 
Aufs.,  p.  143  ff.);  of  the  second  only  the  printer's  copy  in  the  G.  u.  Sch. 
Arch.  The  first  edition  was  printed  in  two  different  forms ;  the  second,  in 
1775,  with  slight  changes,  in  three  different  forms.  There  were  further- 
more seven  pirated  editions.  The  second  version,  of  which  the  second 
part  especially  was  recast,  appeared  in  1787.  The  variations  from  the 
first  version  are  chiefly  insertions,  the  most  extensive  of  which  is  the 
story  of  the  peasant's  servant  in  love,  who  out  of  jealousy  kills  his  rival. 
It  was  intended  to  raise  Werther's  suicide  to  a  higher  moral  level.  It 
seems  to  me  an  unnecessary  introduction  of  a  strong  contrast  into  the 
poem. 

50.  That  Anna  Sibylla  Miinch  was  the  titulary  wife  of  Goethe  in  the 
spring  of  1774  is  known  only  by  an  oral  tradition,  which  Diintzer  heard 
from  a  "most  reliable"  source  in  Frankfort,  and  which  he  communicated 
to  the  world  for  the  first  time  in  his  Frauenhilder  aus  Goethes  Jugendzeit 
in  1852  (c/.,  also,  Blatter  f.  liter.  Unterh.,  1864,  p.  349). 

51.  It  is  not  inconsistent  with  this  fact  that  his  father  wrote  to 
Lavater  on  the  28th  of  June  that  Wolfgang  was  to  return  home.  After 
Wolfgang  had  been  on  the  way  for  six  weeks  without  getting  any  farther 
than  Switzerland  his  father  may  no  longer  have  believed  that  he  had  any 
intention  of  going  to  Italy,  and  he  may  have  considered  any  further 
sojourn  in  Switzerland,  for  whose  rocks  and  misty  lakes  he  cared  nothing 
whatever,  a  waste  of  time  and  money. 

52.  Fritz  Stolberg  wrote  from  Strasburg  to  Klopstock:  "It  [the 
Rhine]  is  a  glorious  river.  Yet  the  very  heart  within  me  gave  me  pain 
when  I  saw  the  conquered  shore  which  now  belongs  to  France.  But 
they  will  not  keep  the  beautiful  country  much  longer;  I  hope  we  shall 
some  day  realise  our  strength"  (Hennes,  Aus  Friedr.  Leop.  v.  Stolbergs 
Jugendjahren,  p.  48).  And  to  his  sister  Katharina:  "Whether  Goethe 
will  go  any  further  with  us,  I  do  not  know;  on  the  one  hand  he  has  a  great 
mind  to  go  to  Italy;  on  the  other  hand,  his  heart  is  drawing  him  back  to 
Frankfort"  (Janssen,  Friedr.  Leop.,  Graf  zu  Stolberg,  i.,  37). 

53.  That  the  friends  (with  the  exception  of  Lavater,  who  had  also 
been  with  the  party  on  the  lake)  go  on  together  as  far  as  Einsiedeln  is 
proved  by  a  letter  from  Fritz  Stolberg  (Janssen,  ibid.,  i.,  43). 

54.  Fritz  Stolberg  writes  on  the  20th  of  June  to  his  sister  Katharina: 
"  The  sensation  of  freedom  in  a  free  land  I  feel  with  all  its  force."  A  week 
later  he  writes  to  her:    "To  him  who  has  a  feeling  for  liberty  Switzerland 


{ 


IROteS  43 1 

is  as  sacred  as  it  is  to  him  who  has  a  feeling  for  nature."  Janssen,  i.,  45  /. 
In  October  he  writes  to  Gerstenberg:  "All  the  little  democratic  cantons 
are  as  free  as  eagles  and  feel  to  the  full  the  happiness  of  their  liberty. 
This  liberty  fills  these  lands,  where  neither  com  nor  wine  grows,  with 
abundance."  Farther  on:  "In  the  Alpine  huts  we  enjoyed  the  blessing 
of  a  simple,  free  people.  .  .  .  We  are  eye-witnesses  of  the  blessing  of 
liberty,  of  the  joy,  the  spirit,  the  bliss,  which  it  alone  can  give,  and  which 
other  nations  cannot  understand"  {Nord  und  Sud,  Nov.,  1894).  Thus 
wrote  the  young  Count.  Only  two  letters  by  Goethe  from  Switzerland 
have  been  preserved.  In  the  two  there  is  not  a  word  about  Swiss  liberty, 
although  in  the  one  from  Altdorf  he  mentions  Tell's  shooting  of  the  apple. 
On  the  contrary,  we  read  in  the  first  part  of  Brief e  aus  der  Schweiz,  which 
Goethe  pubhshed  in  1808  as  belonging  to  Werther:  "Did  you  say  that  the 
Swiss  were  free?  Those  well-to-do  citizens  in  their  walled  cities,  free? 
Those  poor  devils  free  on  their  cliffs  and  rocks?  .  .  .  They  once  rid 
themselves  of  a  tyrant  and  for  a  moment  could  imagine  themselves  free. 
Then  the  dear  sun,  by  a  strange  regeneration,  created  out  of  the  carrion 
of  the  oppressor  a  swarm  of  petty  tyrants.  Now  they  go  on  telling  the 
old  tale.  One  grows  tired  of  hearing  that  they  long  ago  gained  their 
freedom  and  have  remained  free.  Now  they  sit  behind  their  walls,  slaves 
of  their  customs  and  laws,  old  wives'  notions,  and  philistinism,  and  out 
there  on  the  rocks  it  is  doubtless  worth  while  to  speak  of  liberty, 
when  during  half  the  year  they  are  held  in  captivity  by  the  snow  like  a 
marmot!" 

But  do  these  letters  belong  to  the  year  1775?  Most  of  them  certainly 
do.  The  poet  himself  in  DW.  (W.,  xxix.,  136)  ascribed  them — at  least  in 
their  motives — to  this  year;  furthermore,  he  characterised  them  as  be- 
longing to  the  first  Swiss  journey,  by  giving  them  a  place  in  his  works 
before  the  letters  of  the  second  journey ;  and,  in  the  third  place,  the  cir- 
cumstance that  from  that  journey  not  more  than  two  letters  have  been 
preserved  speaks  strongly  in  favotir  of  it.  This  is  an  evidence,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  Wetzlar  letters,  that  the  poet,  after  his  return,  asked  that  his 
letters  be  given  back  to  him,  for  a  literary  purpose.  In  all  probability 
it  was  especially  the  letters  to  Johanna  Fahlmer  (for  the  time  up  to  his 
entrance  into  Switzerland — three  weeks — there  are  four  letters  to  her, 
for  the  next  six  weeks  not  a  single  one),  Merck,  and  Cornelia.  But  the 
whole  trend  and  feeling  of  the  letters  would  also  indicate  that  most  of 
them  belong  to  that  year.  Further  proof  is  furnished  by  a  series  of 
individual  characteristics:  "The  desire  to  fly"  in  No.  4  (cf.  Werther,  i., 
Aug.  i8th) ;  "Scratch  a  little  sheet  full,"  in  No.  6;  terror  at  the  thought  of 
returning,  in  No.  8,  which  is  entirely  out  of  place  in  1779;  the  complaint 
against  the  monsters  of  civil  life  and  false  relations  in  No.  1 2 ;  the  game 
of  marriage  in  the  same  letter;  the  coldness  toward  Italian  art,  the  ex- 
ample of  the  Gothic  churches,  the  agreement  with  esthetic  canons,  in  the 
Falconet  essay  oi  1775  {cf.  Walzel,  Anz.  f.  dtsch.  Alt.,  xxiii.,  93),  Ferdinand's 
(Fritz  Stolberg,  I  presume)  bathing  in  the  open  in  No.  13.  But  to  this 
main  body  Goethe  added  from  the  Swiss  journey  of  1779  the  whole  end- 
ing, from  the  last  paragraph  in  No.  13  to  No.  15,  including  the  study  of 
the  nude  in  Geneva,  together  with  the  criticism  of  the  aristocratic  socie- 


432  ^be  Xlfe  of  Goetbe 

ties,  such  as  only  the  Geheimerat  of  later  years  had  frequent  occasions 
to  become  acquainted  with.  Goethe  has  told  us  his  purpose  in  grouping 
these  letters  together.  It  was  to  show  Werther's  development  up  to 
the  time  when  the  novel  begins.  This  thought  probably  never  occurred 
to  the  poet  till  during  the  time  when  the  book  was  being  read  by  every- 
body, and  misunderstandings  were  springing  up  like  weeds  out  of  the 
ground — ^that  is  to  say,  in  the  year  1775.  This  plan,  like  many  others, 
was  necessarily  interrupted  by  his  removal  to  Weimar.  But  it  returned 
to  the  poet's  mind  again,  of  necessity,  when  he  undertook  the  recon- 
struction of  Werther  in  1783.  He  doubtless  took  up  his  Frankfort  papers 
again  and  supplemented  them  with  some  of  the  Swiss  letters  of  1779. 
After  he  had  provisionally  finished  the  work  he  probably  sent  it  to  Babe 
Schulthess  in  Zurich,  to  whom  he  sent  almost  all  his  new  creations.  In 
this  way  among  his  Swiss  friends,  that  is  to  say,  the  Schulthess  and 
Lavater  circle,  the  anger  may  have  been  called  forth  at  certain  passages, 
which  Goethe  tells  about  in  DW.,  and  which,  he  asserts,  hindered  him 
in  the  continuation  of  these  letters.  But  more  powerful  than  this  reason 
may  have  been  the  consideration  that  the  artistic  impression  of  Werther 
would  be  marred  if  he  should  place  these  letters  at  the  beginning.  At  any 
rate  when  he  made  the  final  revision  for  the  new  edition  in  the  summer 
of  1786  he  laid  the  Swiss  letters  aside.  Until  shortly  before  this  time  he 
seems,  however,  still  to  have  had  in  mind  to  add  the  letters.  I  should 
like  at  least  to  ascribe  to  the  year  1785,  or  the  spring  of  1786,  the  tenth 
letter,  which  corresponds  exactly  to  his  feelings  at  that  time  and  finds  its 
pendant  in  the  letter  from  Rome  of  June  8,  1787  {Br.,  viii.,  231,  28  ff.), 
and  likewise  the  short  ninth  ("Ich  habe  die  ROmische  Geschichte,  etc."). 
After  the  Werther  letters  from  Switzerland  had  been  left  out  of  the  novel 
they  could  celebrate  their  resurrection  only  in  connection  with  the  de- 
scription of  the  journey  of  1779.  For  more  than  one  reason  I  do  not 
believe  in  the  identity  of  the  " leidenschaftliche  Mdrchen"  (which  he  in- 
tended to  invent  in  1796  as  an  introduction,  or  a  frame,  for  the  letters  of 
travel  of  1779,  and  really  began  to  write)  with  the  Werther  letters  of 
travel.  But,  if  one  were  to  accept  such  an  identity,  even  then  a  free 
invention  of  the  letters  could  not  be  thought  of.  Their  historical  value 
would  remain  the  same. 

55.  That  Goethe  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  figure  of  Beaumarchais  is 
sufficiently  evident  from  the  words  of  the  poet  quoted  on  page  236. 
Goethe's  doubles  in  Clavigo  and  Beaumarchais  form  a  very  accurate 
parallel  to  Weislingen  and  Gotz. 

56.  No  manuscript  of  Clavigo  has  been  preserved.  In  1774  there 
appeared  two  editions  in  six  diflFerent  forms,  and,  furthermore,  two  pirated 
editions.  In  1775  and  1776  there  appeared  five  more  pirated  editions. 
Clavigo  very  soon  became  a  popular  repertoire  play.  It  was  performed 
for  the  first  time  in  Hamburg  on  the  21st  of  August,  1774,  immediately 
after  its  appearance  {Teutscher  Merkur,  June,  1775),  at  the  end  of  Sep- 
tember or  the  beginning  of  October,  in  Augsburg,  where  Beaumarchais 
happened  to  be  present  at  the  performance  His  opinion  of  it  was: 
"L'Allemand  avait  git6  I'anecdote  de  mon  m^moire  en  la  surchargeant 
d'un  combat  et  d'un  enterrement,  additions  qui  montraient  plus  de  vide 


motee  433 

de  t6te  que  de  talent"  (Bettelheim,  Beaumarcliais,  p.  335).  Poor  Goethe! 
A  company  of  actors  played  the  piece  in  Nordlingen  (and  probably  else- 
where as  well)  in  1 780,  under  the  title,  Clavigo  oder  wie  innerlicher  Schmerz 
toten  kann  (Bohm,  Ludw.  Wekhrlin.,  Munich,  1893,  p.  169).  It  appeared 
on  the  stage  in  Weimar  in  1792. 

57.  Only  one  manuscript  of  the  original  version  of  Stella,  one  written 
by  Philipp  Seidel,  has  been  preserved.  It  was  at  one  time  in  the  possession 
of  Fritz  Jacobi,  but  is  now  in  the  Royal  Library  in  Munich.  In  the  revised 
form  the  play  first  appeared  in  1 8 1 6.  At  the  first  performance  in  Weimar, 
January  15,  1806,  it  was  given  with  a  tragic  end  varying  from  that  in 
later  times.  Fernando  shot  himself,  while  Stella  remained  alive.  Frau 
von  Stein's  report  to  her  son  on  this  point  was  that  the  play  with  this 
ending  had  not  been  received  with  applause.  "It  would  have  been 
better  if  he  had  let  Stella  die,  for  one  has  no  sympathy  with  the  betrayer, 
Fernando,  even  if  he  does  shoot  himself.  But  he  [Goethe]  took  great 
offence  at  me  for  finding  fault  with  this."  Nevertheless,  he  took  this 
criticism  to  heart,  as  we  know.  First  performance  in  Berlin,  and,  prob- 
ably, in  Germany,  March  13,  1776. 

58.  "  Nicht  freuen  wird"  is  written  very  plainly  in  the  original  letter 
which  the  owner,  Herr  Alexander  Meyer-Cohn,  of  Berlin,  kindly  per- 
mitted me  to  examine.  No  other  reading  is  possible.  The  only  other 
possible  reason  for  a  change  in  the  reading  would  be  that  it  is  a  mistake 
in  writing.  I  consider  a  change  superfluous,  however  (the  Weimar 
edition  reads  "einst  freuen  wird"). 

59.  That  the  Prometheus  ode  was  originally  intended  as  a  monologue 
for  the  drama  is  a  supposition  that  can  hardly  be  rejected,  considering 
Goethe's  own  statements.  His  only  mistake  was  in  thinking  that  the 
monologue  was  to  open  the  third  act,  whereas  it  was  probably  intended 
to  introduce  the  awakening  of  human  life  in  the  second  act.  As  it  now 
stands,  the  introduction  to  this  great  moment  is  somewhat  inadequate 
and  disconnected — sufficient  reason  for  Goethe  to  attempt  a  more  elabor- 
ate and  more  sustained  prelude.  But  as  the  attempt  contained  too 
many  repetitions  of  thoughts  already  presented,  and  motives  hitherto 
employed,  he  dropped  the  new  monologue,  inserting  only  a  few  verses  of 
it  in  the  first  act  {cf.  the  critical  apparatus  to  Prometheus,  lines  28-30, 
GJ.  i.,  294,  and  W.  xxxix.,  436).  If  the  ode  were  to  represent  an  indepen- 
dent lyric  treatment  of  the  dramatic  material,  Goethe  could  not  easily  have 
forgotten  it,  seeing  that  it  had  been  very  family  fixed  in  his  mind  since 
the  end  of  1783,  when  Jacobi  sent  him  and  Herder  his  conversation  with 
Lessing.  It  is  also  hard  to  say  from  what  sotirce  may  have  come  Goethe's 
desire  to  treat  again  in  lyric  style  a  motive  to  which  he  had  just  given 
very  eflfective  dramatic  form. 

60.  Schiller  had  more  of  a  feeling  that  he  was  in  a  city  in  Jena, 
which  in  1787  numbered  only  4000  inhabitants  {Schillers  Briefe,  i.,  396). 
Herder  said  in  1786:  "Desolate  Weimar,  a  miserable  compromise  be- 
tween a  covirt  city  and  a  village"  (Knebels  lit.  Nachlass,  ii.,  250).  "  Almost 
everything  [in  Weimar]  has  the  poverty-stricken  appearance  of  a  dead 
country  town"  (Der  Reisende  in  Geogr.-histor.  Beschreibung  merkwurdiger 
Stddteund  Gegenden,  1798).     Riemer  said  in  1809:   "In  our  village-town" 

VOL.  1. 28. 


434  ^be  Xlfe  of  6oetbe 

(Heitmuller,  Aus  dem  Goethehause,  p.  145).  Mme.  de  Stael,  who  was  in 
Weimar  in  1803,  wrote  in  18 10:  "Weimar,  ce  n'etait  point  une  petite 
ville,  mais  un  grand  chateau"  {De  VAllemagne,  2nd  ed.,  i.,  133).  For  a 
detailed  description  of  Weimar,  following  chiefly  the  letters  of  Secken- 
dorff,  see  Diezmann's  Weimar- Album. 

61.  Fielitz  (and,  before  him,  Blume,  in  the  Chronik  des  Wiener 
Goethevereins,  1890),  in  a  program  (Pless,  1893)  well  worth  the  reading, 
declares  the  reference  of  the  verses  to  Seckendorff  to  be  incorrect,  and 
says  they  refer  to  Knebel,  having  previously  declared  that  the  latter  is 
not  meant  in  the  preceding  stanza.  Let  me  say  in  reply  that  if  an  author 
gives  such  definite  and  detailed  statements  as  to  the  persons  he  has  de- 
picted in  a  poem  as  Goethe  does  in  this  case,  we  have  to  correct  our 
fragmentary  knowledge  collected  from  letters  and  other  documents  to 
agree  with  them,  and  not  the  other  way  round.  That  Eckermann 
should  have  misheard  Goethe  I  consider  incredible.  The  name  "  Secken- 
dorff" was  far  indeed  from  his  thoughts,  and  when  one  person  pronounces 
the  name  "Wedel"  another  is  not  likely  to  mistake  it  for  " Seckendorflf . " 
Furthermore,  I  consider  it  extremely  improbable  that  Goethe  so  con- 
fused the  names  as  to  mention  Seckendorff  for  the  first  stanza  and  Knebel 
for  the  second ;  even  Fielitz  does  not  resort  to  this  supposition.  But  why 
should  Knebel  not  suit  for  the  first  stanza?  "Die  markige  Gestalt  aus 
altem  Heldenstamme."  Knebel  was  a  very  large,  stately  man.  "Aus 
altem  Heldenstamme."  It  is  objected  that  his  father  had  just  been 
ennobled.  But  his  ancestor,  Hans  Knebel,  had,  in  1572,  preferred 
to  be  burned  at  the  stake  in  Antwerp  rather  than  renounce  his 
faith  (Knebels  lit.  Nachl.,  i.,  vii.).  "Er  saugt  begierig  am  geliebten 
Rohr."  Knebel  was  passionately  fond  of  smoking.  "Gutmutig  trocken 
weiss  er  Freud  und  Lachen  im  ganzen  Zirkel  laut  zu  machen."  This  is 
pointed  out  as  being  most  out  of  keeping  with  Knebel's  character.  He  is 
made  out  to  have  been  a  hypochrondriac,  peevish,  etc.  But  are  all 
hypochrondriacs  always  out  of  humour?  Are  there  not  many  who  oc- 
casionally in  society  show  the  best  of  humour?  Fielitz  has  to  admit 
this  of  Knebel  in  his  old  age,  but  says  that  his  temperament  changed  as 
he  grew  old.  Is  it,  on  the  whole,  credible  that  one  who  was  out  of  humour 
all  the  time,  or  even  one  who  was  no  more  than  serious,  could  have 
maintained  his  place  in  that  gay  circle  of  1776?  And  why  shall  we  say 
that  the  second  stanza  does  not  fit  Seckendorff?  The  industrious  man 
in  his  moments  of  rest  is  much  more  likely  to  stretch  out  his  legs  "ek- 
statisch  faul"  than  is  the  habitual  idler.  Seckendorff  may  have  sung  a 
song  of  the  dance  of  the  spheres  just  as  well  as  Knebel.  This  was  a  very 
popular  subject.  The  poet  who,  in  the  spring  of  1779,  had  printed  in 
the  motto  to  the  second  part  of  his  Volkslieder  the  verses,  "O!  heb  mich 
mit  sanftem  Entziicken  Hinauf  bis  ins  Sternenrevier!  Lass  dort  mich 
in  himmlischen  TOnen  Entschweben  dem  Erdenverdruss  "  lets  us  divine 
the  singer  of  1776,  who  "mit  Geistesflug  sich  in  die  HOhe  schwingt  und 
von  dem  Tanz  der  himmelhohen  Sphilren  .  .  .  mit  grosser  In- 
brunst  singt."  In  1776  Seckendorff  was  still  very  congenial  to  the  Duke, 
and  although  the  latter  afterwards  had  many  complaints  to  make  against 
him,  the  situation  was  not  so  bad,  even  in  1783,  that  the  mention  of  his 


IRotea  435 


•name  in  a  poetic  picture  of  a  situation  of  the  year  1776  could  have  put 
the  Duke  out  of  sorts,  as  Fiehtz  would  have  us  believe.  Julius  Goebel, 
in  his  excellent  edition  of  Goethe's  Poems  [selected]  (New  York,  1901), 
also  holds  fast  to  the  poet's  own  testimony,  despite  the  objections  of 
Blume  and  Fielitz. 

62.  With  regard  to  the  ages  of  the  members  of  the  Court  of  the 
Muses  it  may  be  added  that  at  the  time  of  Goethe's  arrival  Frau  von 
Stein  was  ;i^,  Knebel  and  Seckendorff  31,  Bertuch  28,  Einsiedel  25, 
Luise  von  GSchhausen  23,  Countess  Werthern  23,  Baroness  Werthern  18, 
Wedel,  whose  birthyear  for  some  unaccountable  reason  cannot  be  estab- 
lished, probably  also  only  18.  Corona  SchrSter,  when  she  came  to  Weimar 
to  stay  (1776),  was  25,  Frau  von  Schardt  23,  Fritsch,  who  occupied  an 
isolated  position,  44,  Gortz,  38. 

63.  Cf.  Lenz,  Gedichie,  199  (Weinhold)  and  his  letter  from  Weimar: 
"Afternoons  we  meet  up  at  the  Duke's,  who  spends  most  of  his  evenings, 
and  the  ones  he  counts  the  most  pleasant,  with  a  select  company  of  good 
people  of  his  Court,  who  all  wear,  as  we  (Wieland,  Goethe,  and  Lenz)  do, 
a  special  style  of  dress,  and  are  called  by  him  'die  Weltgeister.'  Goethe 
is  our  captain"  {ibid.,  304).  The  text  of  the  satire  here  given  is  that  of 
Duntzer  {Goethes  Eintritt  in  Weimar,  79),  who  based  it  on  a  careful  copy 
by  Burkhardt. 

64.  Lenz  also  had,  as  was  only  very  recently  discovered,  his  special 
plans  with  regard  to  matters  economical  and  political  in  Weimar.  He 
wished  to  institute  there  a  fair  for  French  wares  in  order  to  attract 
thither  French  merchants  and  manufacturers,  to  whom  he  would  in  turn 
dispose  of  the  products  of  the  duchy.  He  begs  Goethe  to  present  the 
project  to  the  Duke.  Cf.  Erich  Schmidt's  thoroughgoing  discussion  of 
Weinhold's  Lenz-Nachlass,  Lenziana,  Sitzungsb.  d.  Kgl.  Preuss.  Akad.  d. 
Wissenschaften,  1901,  Ixi.,  1013. 

65.  That  this  was  originally  intended  as  a  dirge  for  Gluck's  niece  is 
the  very  happy  conjecture  of  Erich  Schmidt  (Vjschr.,  i,  27).  While 
Koegel  {Goethes  lyr.  Dicht.  d.  ersten  Weimar.  Jahre,  24)  is  imwilling  to 
accept  it,  because  he  fails  to  see  any  connection  with  the  poet's  ex- 
periences, I  believe  that  in  my  presentation  above  I  have  shown  the 
connection. 

66.  F.  G.  Leonhardi  {Erdbeschreibung  der  Churfurstlich  und  Herzog- 
lich  Sdchsischen  Lande,  2.  AuU.,  1790),  on  the  basis  of  a  census  of  1786, 
gives  the  population  of  the  Principality  of  Weimar,  together  with  the 
Districts  of  Jena  and  Henneberg,  which  belonged  to  it,  as  62,360;  that  of 
the  Principality  of  Eisenach  he  estimates  at  31,000.  The  population  of 
Weimar,  6265,  of  whom  209  were  cloth-makers  and  stocking-knitters; 
of  Eisenach,  8000;  of  Jena,  4334,  with  about  600  students. 

67.  I  have  taken  the  figures  from  Duntzer  {Goethes  Tagebiicher, 
1776-1786,  p.  156),  who  in  turn  has  them  from  Burkhardt.  Leonhardi, 
ibid.,  places  the  number  for  1786  at  350. 

68.  The  results  which  Goethe  accomplished  in  the  reformation  of  the 
Duke's  financial  management  can  only  be  partially  verified  at  present, 
as  it  is  not  certain  how  much  of  the  burden  was  put  on  the  Chamber 
before  Goethe  assumed  control  of  the  latter.      In  reply  to  my  inquiry 


436  ZTbe  Xlfe  of  6oetbe 

Burkhardt  gave  me  the  following  figures  from  the  records  of  the  public 
purse:  From  October  i,  1776,  to  October  i,  1777,  receipts  25,100  thalers, 
expenditures  25,886;  1781-1782,  receipts  23,791,  expenditures  26,686; 
1782-1783,  receipts  28,217,  expenditures  30,809;  1783-1784,  receipts 
23,798,  expenditures  24,758;  1784-1785,  receipts  27,186,  expenditures 
33,094.  According  to  these  figures  the  Duke's  management  showed 
deficits  from  the  very  first.  In  1781-1782  the  amount  was  about  3000 
thalers.  Goethe's  first  year  of  financial  management  reduced  the  amount 
to  something  over  2000  (according  to  his  correspondence  with  Bertuch 
it  must  be  assumed  that  the  deficit  threatened  to  be  still  greater  than  the 
previous  year),  his  second  to  1000.  The  third  year,  on  the  other  hand, 
it  jumps  up  again  to  6000.  This  was  caused  by  the  Duke's  long  journeys 
in  the  autumn  of  1784  and  the  summer  of  1785  in  the  interest  of  the 
League  of  Princes.  Otherwise  the  year  would  have  ended  with  a  sur- 
plus. These  facts  make  it  abundantly  evident  why  Goethe  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1785  insisted  on  limiting  the  Court  table,  and  at  the  same  time 
uttered  the  sigh:  "I  am  patching  away  at  the  beggar's  mantle  which 
is  about  to  fall  from  my  shoulders."  On  the  30th  of  November,  1799, 
Herder  told  Bottiger,  the  director  of  the  Weimar  Gymnasium:  "While 
Goethe  was  still  president  of  the  Chamber  he  laboured  to  bring  it  about 
that  a  fixed  estimate  of  receipts  and  expenses  might  be  laid  before  the 
Duke,  and  the  Duke  then  be  obliged  to  give  his  promise  not  to  exceed 
this  estimate  in  his  demands.  But  the  Duke  had  little  desire  to  do  so, 
and  this  made  the  presidency  so  distasteful  to  Goethe  that  he  undertook 
his  jotu-ney  to  Italy  in  order  to  get  rid  of  the  whole  affair"  (BOttiger, 
Literar.  Zustdnd.  und  Zeitgen.,  i,  58). 

69.  In  view  of  the  discretion  which  a  minister  must  observe  in 
political  projects  it  is  natural  that  Goethe  entrusted  to  paper  at  most 
occasional  slight  hints  concerning  his  far-reaching  plans  of  reform.  In 
his  literary  works,  on  the  other  hand,  and  especially  in  Wilhelm,  Meister 
{Lehrj.,  vii.,  3,  and  viii.,  2),  he  has  expressed  himself  more  openly. 
Adolf  SchoU  {Goethe,  p.  252  ff.)  has  pointed  out  the  importance  of  these 
passages,  and  I  have  followed  him.  Apparently  Goethe  began  early  to 
work  on  his  plans  of  reform.  In  May,  1779,  he  made  the  entry  in  his 
diary:  "Reduction  of  taxes,  etc.  .  .  .  was  very  busy  during  this 
time,"  in  which  the  "etc."  is  very  suggestive.  On  his  journey  to  the 
Harz  Mountains,  on  November  29,  1777 :  "When  will  the  tithes  cease  and 
an  epha — "  [a  princely  "Er  sagte  es"  intervene?]  An  allusion  to  the 
vigorous  and  far-reaching  character  of  his  plans  and  to  the  bearing  of 
the  Duke  is  found  in  a  letter  of  November  12,  1 781,  to  Frau  von  Stein: 
"For  the  carrying  out  of  the  length  and  breadth  of  a  long,  bold  plan  the 
Duke  lacks  the  necessary  consequence  of  ideas  and  true  steadfastness." 

70.  I  surmise  that  the  journey  to  the  Rhine  and  to  Switzerland  in 
the  year  1779  was  undertaken  partly  to  serve  this  purpose.  It  is  some- 
what striking  that  Karl  August  and  Goethe  visited  so  many  Courts  on 
the  return  trip. 

71.  Cf.  Erdmannsdftrffer,  Die  politische  Korrcspondenz  Karl  Fried- 
richs  von  Baden,  6;  Ranke,  Die  deutschcn  Mdchte  und  der  Fitrstcnbund.,  2. 
Ausg.,  32/.  and  69/. 


1ROtC0  437 

72.  Goethe's  attitude  toward  the  Prussian  League  of  Princes  can 
be  pretty  clearly  recognised  in  Karl  August's  remark  in  July,  1785,  to 
the  Prussian  agent,  Dohm,  that  he  would  have  given  the  preference  to  a 
league  of  small  states  in  which  there  would  be  no  falling  out  either  with 
the  Emperor  or  with  Prussia.  Many  princes  would  now  hesitate  to  enter 
a  league  which  was  evidently  formed  against  the  Emperor  and  controlled 
by  the  electoral  princes  (Prussia,  Hanover,  Saxony)  in  accordance  with 
their  individual  interests.  The  allies,  he  feared,  would  become  em- 
broiled in  Prussia's  wars  which  did  not  concern  the  Empire.  .  .  .  He 
confidentially  expressed  further  his  regret  that  the  feelings  and  interests 
of  the  small  states  were  either  unknown  or  disregarded  in  Berlin  (c/.  the 
comprehensive  discussion  by  Bailleu  in  the  Histor.  Zeitschr.,  Ixxiii.,  ig). 
As  Goethe  and  the  Prussian  privy  councillor,  Boehmer,  were  executing  the 
document  of  Weimar's  entrance  into  the  League  the  poet  took  great  pains 
to  see  to  it  that  the  Duke's  dignity  and  titles  were  in  no  wise  prejudiced. 
It  was  signed  August  29,  1785. 

73.  After  all,  this  must  be  said  in  his  praise.  Frederick  the  Great's 
earlier  attempts  had  all  been  temporary  expedients.  So  were  likewise 
those  made  by  Georg  Ludwig  von  Edelsheim  by  order  of  the  King  in  the 
spring  of  1778.  They  were  immediately  given  up  when  Austria  inclined 
toward  peace.  Neither  was  Prussia  willing,  at  the  time  of  the  formation 
of  the  League  of  Princes,  to  undertake  any  reform  of  the  Empire,  which, 
however,  aside  from  the  security  of  the  small  states,  was  Goethe's  chief 
aim.  Concerning  Karl  August's  proposals  of  reform  we  read  the  very 
cool  remark  in  a  Prussian  memorandum:  "Dans  le  traite  d'union  les 
conf6d6r6s  ne  sont  pas  tant  engages  h.  ameliorer  et  k  reformer  la  consti- 
tution germanique,  qu'^  maintenir  I'ancienne  et  veritable  constitution 
de  I'Empire  contre  le  despotisme  et  les  usurpations"  (Bailleu,  ibid.). 

74.  The  only  manuscripts  in  existence  are  of  the  last  redaction. 
The  one  in  Goethe's  own  hand,  finished  in  Rome,  September  5,  1787,  is  in 
the  Royal  Library  in  Berlin;  the  other,  prepared  for  the  printer  by  a 
copyist,  is  in  the  G.  u.  Sch.  Arch.  Egmont  appeared  in  print  at  Easter, 
1788.  The  play  was  first  performed  March  31,  1791,  in  Weimar,  and  met 
with  little  success.  When  Goethe  himself  had  assumed  the  direction  of 
the  theatre  he  persuaded  Schiller  to  revise  the  drama,  and  Schiller  "pro- 
ceeded cruelly."  In  this  form  it  was  given  in  April,  1796,  and  received 
with  applause.  Most  theatres  followed  Schiller's  revision  with  few 
modifications.     The  first  performance  in  Berlin  was  in  1801. 

75.  Goethe  lived  in  the  "Queen  of  England,"  now  called  "Hotel 
Victoria."  It  is  situated  in  the  interior  of  the  city,  near  St.  Mark's 
Square  (cf.  Chronik  des  Wiener  Goethevereins,  i.,  no.  2).  According  to 
the  Gothaische  Hofkalender,  Venice  had  149,000  inhabitants  in  1786; 
Florence  had  81,000;  Rome,  162,800;  Naples,  380,900;  Palermo,  120,- 
000;  Milan,  120,000.  Of  the  German  cities  that  Goethe  had  seen  none 
of  them  except  Berlin  numbered  over  50,000.  If  one  further  takes  into 
consideration  the  fact  that  the  low  land  in  Italy  was  much  more  densely 
populated  than  in  Germany,  that  outside  the  gates  and  on  the  estates 
of  the  nobility  there  had  been  erected  numerous  artistically  beautiful 
villas,  whereas  in  Germany  the  cities  ended  with  the  fortifications,  and 


438  tTbe  %\tc  of  (Boetbe 

the  nobility  lived  outside  in  menacing  old  castles  or  barrack -like  more 
recent  houses,  it  can  also  be  understood  why  Italy  could  not  but  make 
such  a  free,  animated,  cheerful,  and  attractive  impression  on  Goethe. 

76.  In  those  days  the  Assunta  was  still  in  the  Frari ;  in  San  Giovanni 
was  the  murder  of  Peter  the  Martyr.  Goethe  merely  makes  casual  men- 
tion of  the  angels  in  this  picture  {H.,  xxiv.,  80).  That  he  is  silent  with 
regard  to  Verrocchio's  magnificent  equestrian  statue  of  CoUeoni  may  be 
explained,  on  the  other  hand,  in  another  way.  It  is  because  he  always 
ignored  Christian  plastic  art,  which  to  his  mind  was  always  eclipsed  by 
the  antique. 

77.  Goethe's  position  with  reference  to  the  Gothic.  Faust, 
6412:  "Give  me  slender  buttresses  with  a  striving  upward  to  the  in- 
finite," is  ironical  in  Goethe's  mouth.  In  the  passage  "multiplication 
of  the  small,"  etc.  {H.,  xxiv.,  517),  he  explains  the  origin  of  the  Gothic 
from  the  shrines  of  saints  and  similar  works  of  wood-carving.  "  They 
fastened  their  finical  ornaments,  mouldings,  and  brackets  to  the  outside 
of  the  walls  in  the  north,  and  thought  in  this  way  to  ornament  gables 
and  shapeless  towers."  The  outburst  of  anger  in  Venice  was  not  in- 
serted in  the  Italienische  Reise  till  later,  but  is  certainly  based  on  a  clear 
remembrance  of  what  he  there  felt  and  thought  on  seeing  the  fragment 
of  an  antique  entablature.  This  view  is  further  supported  by  the  fact 
that  he  made  the  insertion  in  spite  of  his  having  promised  Boisser6e  to 
leave  it  out  (Boisser^e,  i.,  264).  Schinkel,  the  greatest  architect  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  went  through  the  same  course  of  development  away 
from  the  Gothic  to  the  antique. 

78.  In  Bologna  Goethe  also  went  into  raptures  over  a  Saint  Agatha 
which  was  considered  to  be  the  work  of  Raphael.  He  would  not  let  his 
Iphigenia  say  anything  that  this  saint  could  not  also  have  said.  The 
picture  has  vanished  without  a  trace,  but  this  much  is  certain,  that  it 
was  not  the  work  of  Raphael. 

79.  "In  my  room  I  already  have  the  most  beautiful  bust  of  Jupiter 
["  A  colossal  head  of  Jupiter  is  standing  in  my  room,"  Br.,  viii.,  loi],  a 
colossal  Juno,  great  and  glorious  beyond  all  expression"  {Br.,  viii.,  135). 
Concerning  the  Juno  see,  further,  Br.,  viii.,  117  and  149.  According  to  this 
the  colossal  heads  which  he  mentions  in  Br.,  viii.,  75,  together  with  the 
Pantheon,  Apollo  Belvedere,  and  the  Sistine  Chapel,  as  those  works 
beside  which  he  sees  almost  nothing  else,  must  surely  be  these,  and  not, 
as  Erich  Schmidt  thinks  {Schr.  d.  Goethegesellsch.,  ii.,  440),  Antinoiis  and 
Faustina;  these  two  busts,  which  were  in  Frascati,  in  the  Villa  Mon- 
dragone,  and  not  in  Rome,  he  seems  to  have  seen  for  the  first  time  in 
December,  1787.  On  this  visit  the  Faustina  makes  such  a  slight  im- 
pression on  him  that  he  makes  no  mention  of  it  at  all  {H.,  xxiv.,  447)- 

80.  It  is  probable,  but  not  certain,  that  Goethe  was  also  in  Sorrento, 
Tasso's  native  city  (cf.  Schriften  der  Gocthegesellschaft,  v.,  73).  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  is  probable  that  he  did  not  visit  Capri.  To  what  a 
limited  degree  these  two  points  were  then  fashionable  as  resorts  is 
shown  by  the  remarks  of  his  guide,  Volkmann  {Historisch-kritischc  Nach- 
richten  von  Italien,  iii.,  332),  who  in  spite  of  his  usual  copiousness,  knows  of 
nothing  else  to  say  of  Sorrento  than  that  its  inhabitants  mostly  support 


IRotee  439 

themselves  by  the  fattening  of  calves  for  the  Neapolitan  market,  and  of 
Capri  that  the  island  is  known  by  the  debauches  of  Tiberius.  So  far  as 
I  know,  Capri  has  been  a  general  resort  for  tottrists  only  since  the  dis- 
covery of  the  Grotta  Azzurra. 

8i.  After  the  correct  surmises  of  Adolf  Stem  in  No.  51  of  the  Grenz- 
boten  for  1890,  the  name,  age,  and  fxirther  fate  of  the  Milanese  beauty 
have  been  established  beyond  all  doubt  by  Antonio  Valeri  (pseudonym 
Carletta)  in  the  Vita  Italiana,  iii.,  129-139  (January,  1897),  and  in  his 
Goethe  a  Rama  (Rome,  1899).  Maddalena,  according  to  him,  was  bom 
November  29,  1765,  which  would  make  her  about  twenty-two  years  of 
age  when  Goethe  made  her  acquaintance.  Very  soon  after  Goethe's 
departure  she  was  betrothed  and  married  to  the  son  of  the  famous  etcher, 
Volpato,  who  belonged  to  AngeUka  Kaufmann's  circle.  Angelika  painted 
a  portrait  of  her  as  Signora  Volpato,  and  Valeri  has  found  the  painting. 
It  is  now  in  Berlin  in  the  possession  of  Dr.  Werner  Weisbach.  A  look  at 
it  is  enough  to  make  one  consider  Goethe  justified  in  being  taken  with  the 
beautiful  Maddalena.  How  firmly  her  image  was  fixed  in  his  memory 
is  shown  by  the  description  of  her  in  the  Ital.  Reise,  which,  though  not 
•written  down  till  forty  years  after  (1829),  corresponds  exactly  with  the 
picture.  Maddalena  did  not  live  to  see  the  appearance  of  the  part  con- 
cerning her.     She  died  in  1825. 

82.  In  my  opinion  the  chief  figure  in  the  elegies  is  Faustina  of  Rome, 
and  not  Christiana.  The  poems  may  have  been  conceived,  partly  in 
Rome  and  partly  on  the  return  journey.  His  relation  to  Christiana 
merely  gave  Goethe  "  the  courage  and  disposition  to  elaborate  them 
(with  the  addition  of  some  Thuringian  elements)  and  redact  them"  {W. 
xxxvi.,  14), — nothing  more.  The  poet  was  accordingly  perfectly  justified 
in  writing  on  the  manuscript,  "Rome,  1788."  (cf.  Br.,  viii.,  347,  7). 

83.  In  Constanz,  on  his  homeward  journey,  Goethe  even  gives 
utterance  to  the  important  statement  that  he  was  "  absolutely  happy"  in 
Rome.  Carolina  Herder  reports  him  as  having  said  that  "  for  a  fortnight 
before  his  departure  he  had  every  day  wept  like  a  child"  (Herder's  Reise 
nach  Italien,  4). 

84.  Herder,  on  his  arrival  in  Rome  six  months  after  Goethe's  de- 
parture, writes  to  him:  "  It  is  impossible  to  describe  how  much  your 
friends  here  all  love  you";  and  to  Carolina:  "  Everybody  who  knew  him 
here  admires  and  loves  him."     "  Halbgott"   (demigod),  H.,  xxiv.,  286. 

85.  In  anticipation  of  the  approaching  "ganz  Werden"  (attain- 
ment of  complete  harmony  of  his  nature),  he  writes  to  Frau  von  Stein, 
under  the  date  of  June  8,  1787:  "  Fiirthermore,  I  have  become  acquainted 
with  happy  people,  who  are  happy  only  because  their  natures  are  com- 
pletely harmonious;  even  the  least  man,  if  his  nature  is  harmonious,  can 
be  happy  and  can  in  his  own  way  be  perfect;  this  I  also  will  and  must 
now  achieve,  and  I  can;  at  least  I  know  wherein  it  lies,  and  what  are  the 
conditions;  I  have  learned  to  know  myself  on  this  journey  more  than 
I  can  tell"  {Br.,  viii.,  232). 


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